Angelus' Offspring
by Rowynne Crowley
Summary: Joss didn't tell us everything. Starting with Liam's one-nighter with his family's servant, Anna, and the resulting several generations of supernaturally endowed twins. This is the story of their lives, and how they intersected with Angel/us.
1. Preface

**Preface**

**Summary of Information**

As the title suggests, the following is a detailed account of the lives and deaths of the children spawned from the man (or demon) we've all come to know and love (or loathe) as Angel (or Angelus). It is not a pretty tale, and in places can be downright horrific, but it is a tale which must be told. I shall attempt to do so as honestly and objectively as possible, without disrespecting the memories of the fallen, or disregarding the noble sacrifices of heroes.

**Author's Intentions**

In the past, there has been much discussion, written and verbal, about the life, death and undeath of the vampire known as Angelus. His crimes against humanity have been recorded, analyzed, and recreated in a variety of formats, including the popular television programs, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". While Mr. Whedon's account of events was for the most part accurate, vital details of Angelus' history have been omitted. While, this is quite understandable given the strict regulations placed on network television, these omissions included what I feel to be potentially life-saving information about the notorious vampire.

Chiefly among these is the family Angelus left behind when he became a vampire. Mention has been made again and again with regards to his parents and his young sister, whom he brutally murdered almost immediately upon arising from the grave. Not a word has been said, however, about his children or grandchildren. Yes, Angelus (or Liam, as he was called in life) did indeed father a child before his untimely demise. More specifically, he fathered two of them- twins. These children in turn had children of their own, and so on. Yet there has been not a single mention of them. These women led tragically short lives filled with terror and uncertainty. For many of them, death was long and painful, and Angelus was directly responsible. To continue to ignore their tribulations, and the bravery with which they faced adversity would be a travesty. This document is an attempt to correct that. It is primarily for them that I write.

Also omitted from Joss Whedon's re-creations were many of the atrocities Angelus was responsible for before regaining his soul. We were given only a cursory overview of how he earned his reputation as "The Scourge of Europe". Who was the young gypsy that led to Angel's re-ensoulment? What did Cordelia Chase witness as a Higher Being that was so terrible as to cause her to rethink having a romantic relationship with him? These questions and others will be addressed throughout this document.

Even post-soul Angel has his secrets. These secrets have been kept for far too long. Though he has done many heroic deeds in recent history, including saving the world on more than one occasion, he is by no means an angel. He has been the cause of a great deal of heartache and bloodshed, even after regaining his soul. Though attempts have been made to cover up, excuse or even deny such unpleasantness outright, it is a fact that Angel, in full possession of his soul, has tortured, and even killed human beings. While he didn't always perpetrate said heinousness himself, in many cases he willfully stood by and not only merely allowed it to happen, but in some instances, enabled it.

Finally, the main purpose of this document is to provide the knowledge necessary to protect oneself from becoming just another notch on Angel's already guilty conscience. Angelus may be buried, for the moment, but as long Angel lives, the potential exists for Angelus to resurface once more. By sharing the history of Angel/Angelus and his descendants, and illuminating his strengths and weaknesses, it is my hope that future deaths, and/or injuries at Angel's hands, accidental and otherwise, can be avoided.

**Sources of Information**

Before I begin, I feel it's important to explain where my information comes from. My sister, Kestryl and I are the twelfth of thirteen generations directly descended from the man who was once called Liam Gallagher, who eventually became known as Angelus, the one with the angelic face, and now calls himself simply, "Angel". Over the past ten years or so, I have come to know my grandfather quite well. He has been both my protector and my tormentor, my friend as well as my enemy. I have listened patiently while he confessed his sins, and sat transfixed with horror as he boasted of his brutality.

Additionally, it seems Angel isn't the only one in our family saddled with a curse. With few exceptions, one way or another, the women in my family tend to fall victim to vampirism, only to rise again as demons themselves. Most of them are more or less amiable, eager to share their stories, particularly where it paints Angel (or more specifically, Angelus) in a negative light. For reasons which will become clear as you read this tale, not all of them are as excited to relive their struggles as others, but all recognize the necessity to have the information made public. As a result, I have had the unique opportunity to interview and interact with most of my ancestors from the previous eleven generations. It is these conversations, and my personal experiences with Angel/Angelus from which I draw the bulk of my knowledge. When such conversation was not possible, diary entries and correspondence have served a similar purpose, and I have included excerpts where appropriate.


	2. Liam Gallagher

**Chapter One**

**Liam Gallagher 1727-1753**

**The Man That Time Forgot**

Liam Gallagher was born February 17, 1727 in Galway, Ireland to a family of linen merchants. Following the death of his older brother Sean in a freak horse accident, the spring of 1736, it was his father's dream that young Liam would one day take over the family business, and Charles Gallagher could retire a proud man. The youngest Gallagher boy, Seamus, had yet to be born at this point in time, and Liam's sister Kathy was still a newborn. Even if she weren't, it was unheard of in those days to pass one's business to a mere girl. Liam was the last great hope of an already flagging business. To Charles' utter disappointment, Liam expressed neither the desire nor the aptitude. The linen business and the intricacies of running it were a bore to him. He would much rather have been out wasting time with his friends than doing anything resembling work. He was once quoted as saying, "... with the exception of an honest day's work, there's no challenge I'm not prepared to face." Still, it's not as though the middle Gallagher boy didn't try. Though it may not always have seemed so, Liam genuinely wanted to please his father, and fought hard to win his approval. He just didn't have the knack for business (This is still in evidence with regards to the running of his own business); no matter how hard he tried, nothing was ever good enough for Dear Old Dad.

Eventually, father and son gave up on one another and satisfied themselves with simply staying out of each other's way. The elder Gallagher threw himself into his work, striving to preserve what was left of his family's sole source of income. Liam turned his attentions to pleasures of the flesh, primarily potent alcoholic beverages and women of ill repute. Liam was always on the alert for the easy way out, particularly when it came to making money. He spent most evenings gambling at the local pub, then handing over his winnings to the establishment's female entertainment. His days were filled sleeping off the whisky he had drowned himself in the night before. On occasion, he would find unconsciousness in the arms of that evening's hired escort, not returning home until well after sunrise. It was on one of these occasions, in the last year of his human life, when he first began chatting up his family's one remaining servant, Anna O'Connor.

**When Liam Met Anna**

Anna O'Connor was born August 22, 1735. Her mother worked as a seamstress, and her father was a bookkeeper, both in Charles Gallagher's employ. When the two of them died tragically in a house fire the summer of 1748, leaving the thirteen-year-old Anna an orphan, and the sole survivor of her family, Charles and Martha Gallagher graciously took her in as their live-in servant. She was granted a room of her own, and a place at the table. The Gallagher's treated Anna as one of their own, never making her feel lesser as the hired help. Over the next five years, she grew to cherish each of them just as she had cherished her own family prior to their deaths. None rallied her affections, however, quite like her "Dear Master Liam", as she affectionately referred to him in her diary.

_**12th March, 1753**_

_It was well after breakfast and I was doing the washing up when he finally came home. His clothing was in a shambles, and his hair was all disheveled. He looked like he'd spent the night in the pasture, and I could almost smell the liquor on him before he even entered the room, but God help me, I love him anyway. How could I not? Just look at him! He's got the face of an angel, he does, and the way he swaggers about like he hasn't a care in the world, how could any woman not fall madly in love with him the moment she set eyes on him? Well, she'd have to be blind or completely daft, to be sure! There's not a woman alive who could resist the charms of my Dear Master Liam._

Anna goes on to describe one of the many altercations between Liam and his father, which took place almost on a daily basis, increasing in their frequency and intensity toward the end of Liam's life.

…_Mister Gallagher tore into him the moment he stepped through the door. How dare he stay out night after night like he has, worrying his mother and doing God knows what with God knows who? "And that Philip O'Reilly is a bad influence. You'll never make anything of yourself consorting with the likes of him. Mark my words, boy, you don't change your ways, your mother and I will be burying your remains before the end of the year." And on and on it went, until both men had gone hoarse from the shouting, Mister Gallagher stormed out of the house in a huff, and Dear Master Liam hid himself away in his room for the rest of the day. He's still there, now, and the sun has nearly set._

Though this particular dispute seems considerably mild, Anna writes in later entries of numerous occasions where the confrontations escalated to physical violence between father and son. Unfortunate as these family quarrels may have been, however, my own existence would not have been possible without them. After a particularly violent brawl between Liam and his father, Anna wrote of a very touching moment between she and her "Dear Master".

_**16 July, 1753**_

_I always knew how strong and confident my Dear Master was, but I never imagined how tender he could be when he was of the mind. Master Liam had another terrible row with his father this evening. I was in my room at the time, and so I didn't see what happened. When I opened my door to take a peek, it was all over. Master Liam was passing me on his way to bed. I can't even remember the last time he spent an evening at home, but once I got a look at him, I could see why he didn't want to go out. Mister Gallagher gave it to him good this time. His bottom lip was swollen and bloodied, and his beautiful eye was bruised so badly he could scarcely open it. It broke my heart to see him in such a state. So I did what any other concerned woman would have done in my position (no disrespect to Missus Gallagher, surely Mister Gallagher had his own wounds that needed tending). I took him into my room, that I might ease his pain some. Aye, I know it isn't proper, but neither is beating a man to such a bloody mess that he cannot be recognized. I had to do something for him if I could. And how else was he ever going to see me as anything more than just his family's servant, and far better than any strumpet at the pub he has to pay for their affections?_

_I sat him down on my bed, and cleaned his cuts with a wet cloth. I told him how I thought his father was too hard on him, and that he deserves better. He's a grown man, and should be treated as such. Not be made to cow and submit like some pitiful child. I've seen wild animals granted more respect, and I told him so. We ended up talking all night, and the sun greeted us as we made love on the rug. It was a truly magical evening. Master Liam is the sweetest man I have ever met. He's so tender and kind. I never thought it possible, but I love him more now than I ever have before. He is a good man, my Liam, and it's an awful shame if others don't see it._

**Dear Departed**

This was to be the first and the last night Anna and Liam spent together. As luck would have it, the elder Gallagher happened to be passing by just as Liam left Anna's room that morning. No discussion took place as to the details of what went on in the room, but it was clear that Mr. Gallagher was well aware of what had happened. While Anna's employment was not terminated because of it (likely due to the prodding of Liam's mother, says Angel), Charles Gallagher went out of his way to ensure nothing of the like ever happened again. It became just one more in a long list of topics available for constant debate between the men of the house. It was fast becoming clear that Liam would not be able to call the Gallagher house his home for much longer. None felt this inevitable split more than Anna, as is evidenced by the following passage.

_**24th September, 1753**_

_I had the most dreadful dream last night. It seemed so real, that when I awoke this morning I had to ask myself whether it really was a dream at all, or if I had witnessed some actual event and only thought I was dreaming. It was outside O'Doul's Pub. My dear Master Liam was being thrown out on his arse, as I am sure has happened on more than one occasion already. It was him and that awful O'Reilly boy. As I watched, Philip fell dead away on the street, likely succumbing to excessive drink. Master Liam barely took the time to notice and left him there alone, while he wandered off to meet some strange woman in the alley just up ahead. Oh, I don't mean she was strange exactly, it was her being there at all that I found odd. She was a noble woman. Or at least that was how she appeared, with her fancy dress and the way her hair was all bundled up on her head like it was. She was pretty, I suppose, perhaps a bit pale, and my Master seemed quite taken with her. I couldn't make out their words, but she appeared equally impressed with Master Liam. As I looked on in horror, suddenly her face changed to this grotesque creature. Her brow became heavily ridged and she sprouted these terrible fangs, like some sort of serpent. I wanted to turn away, to flee as fast and as far as my legs would carry me, but it was as if I was frozen in place. I was powerless to do more than watch as she bit my dear Liam in the throat. I thought it could get no worse, as I saw my Master helplessly fall to his knees. Then this creature, for I could no longer see her as a woman, pulled away and drew one unnaturally long fingernail across her bosom leaving a long trail of blood in its wake. She gripped Master Liam about his head, pulling him towards her. I watched, horrified, as he drank greedily of the blood trickling from her wound, like a newborn infant suckling at his mother's breast._

_The image changed then, as dreams often do, and it was daylight. I was at the graveyard with Mister and Missus Gallagher, and sweet Kathy. Everyone was wearing dark clothes, and they were all weeping. It was a funeral. I looked down at the head stone, and there engraved upon its face, was the name of my dear Master Liam. Then suddenly it was night again, and I was alone, mourning the death of my Master. I stooped down and put my hand on the fresh grave, cursing God for allowing this terrible tragedy, when a hand burst forth from the earth. I backed away in fright and watched as a figure clawed his way from the ground. It was my dear Master, arose from the dead, his face transformed like that of the woman who murdered him. I tried to run, then, but he was too fast. He grabbed me and sank his sharp fangs into the exposed flesh of my throat._

_I woke up then, but I could still feel the agonizing pain where I had been bitten in my dream. I had to examine myself to be sure the flesh was still intact. I found nothing unusual, but even now, as I write this, I can feel the soreness there. I cannot help but wonder if this was not merely an ordinary nightmare, but rather a portent of things to come._

Liam Gallagher met his end the very evening this passage was written. Charles Gallagher and his son had their final row in a list of thousands, as Liam made up his mind that it was time to go. In a last feeble attempt to reign in his progeny, Mr. Gallagher queried as to where Liam thought he was going. Thinking perhaps the fear of homelessness would be enough to sway his son's wanderlust, he demanded, "Who'll take you in, huh? No one!" Young Liam responded saying, "I'll not lack for a place to sleep, I can tell you that."

In an informal interview, I asked Angel to elaborate on this assertion. He insists, "I had my pick of the ladies back then. Any one of them would have been glad to take me in." I made a tongue-in-cheek comment about his choice of words, and questioned whether the eagerness of these 'ladies' had anything to do with their being on his payroll. He rolled his eyes at my comment and defended himself thus:

What? You think I couldn't get a date on my own merit? I'll have you know I can be quite charming. It wasn't all prostitutes and barmaids, you know. I only hired escorts so I wouldn't have to deal with the awkward morning after.

So there you have it. Liam could get a legitimate date whenever he wanted it. He only hired hookers so he wouldn't have to call them in the morning (I'm speaking figuratively, of course, since they didn't have phones back then). What a prince(!)

It is impossible to know, of course, whether any of these legitimate dates would have offered Liam semi-permanent lodging, as he became acquainted with Darla the very evening the preceding exchange with his father took place. Only Anna truly understood how prophetic Charles Gallagher's last words to his son, would prove to be. As Liam stormed out of the house for the final time as a human man, his father declared, "If you'll go courting trouble, you're sure to find it!"

Though she feared a backlash from her employer for involving herself in a family dispute, Anna feared for Liam's safety even more. She ran out after him and begged him not to go, to try to work out some sort of agreement with his father. Liam would have none of it, saying he couldn't bear to live under the rule of that "tyrant" for another minute. Having no other choice, Anna bade her "Dear Master Liam" a final, tearful goodbye, knowing in her heart, if not in her mind, that it was to be the last time she ever saw him alive.

The following morning the family received an unexpected visitor in the form of the local constable, Collin O'Shea. Liam's remains were found in an alley not far from O'Doul's Pub, apparently ravaged by a wild animal. Certain that her nightmare from two nights before had become reality, but unwilling to believe it, Anna insisted on accompanying Mr. Gallagher and the constable to the scene of the crime.

_**25th September, 1753**_

_I had to see it with my own eyes. Sure enough it was exactly as I saw in my dream. Master Liam was lying there on the cobblestone, his throat torn in a ghastly puncture wound. There was scarcely any blood on the ground surrounding his body, nor anywhere else, but for the gash on his throat, and a trickle of red liquid issuing from between his lips. It seems impossible, I know, but in my heart, I am now certain that my dream was in fact a vision of the future, and that very soon, perhaps as early as this evening, Master Liam will rise from his grave, no longer the dear man I have come to know and love with all my heart, the father of my unborn child, but a hideous beast whose sole purpose is to maim and destroy all that is good._


	3. Anna O'Connor

**Chapter Two**

**Anna O'Connor 1735-1767**

**The Great Escape**

Anna declined attending Liam's funeral, not willing to risk the rest of her dream coming to pass. Much to the dismay of Liam's younger sister, Kathy (who felt she was being abandoned by everyone she held dear), she instead packed up her meager belongings and fled the town of Galway, where she had made her home all of her eighteen years of life. She made her way west into Dublin, onto the mainland, into Manchester, England, south through Birmingham and on to London, finally leaving the British Isles, and continuing on to France. It was a constant struggle to stay one step ahead of the demon now wearing the face of her beloved Liam, whom she had come to learn through rumors and hearsay, was now calling himself Angelus.

She became obsessed with the notion that he would one day find her, and finish what he had begun with his family back in Galway. She had heard the stories and read the newspaper reports of the terror wrought in her hometown by Angelus and his new consort, Darla. Everyone she had come to know and love throughout her lifetime, and in particular those who had become her surrogate family, all died horrible and violent deaths at the hands of her former crush. In every city and township she passed through on her travels, she heard similar tales. It is unclear whether she was unwittingly following him, or if Angelus was consciously pursuing Anna, but in her eyes it seemed only a matter of time before he finally caught up with her, thus erasing the last remnants of his human life.

She was remained constantly vigilant for any shred of evidence that her former lover was nearby, and was prepared to flee at a moment's notice. She kept carefully maintained records of Angelus' activities, via newspaper clippings from her hometown of Galway, and every city and town she passed through during her seemingly endless escape. She tirelessly sought to educate herself on the demon her beloved Liam had become, and how to protect herself if and when he finally caught up with her. Mostly, however, she sought to avoid him. She never invited strangers into her home, refusing even to answer her door without first asking who was there, and she never ever went out after sunset.

Finally in Marseilles, France, Anna finally seemed to find peace. She took a job as a maid in a wealthy household, where she met a young woman by the name of Clara Cooper, another servant in the house. The two women became fast friends, and Anna was invited to move in to the modest cottage, where Clara lived with her three-year-old son, Michael. The two friends continued to reside together following the birth of Anna's twin daughters, Hannah and Kathryn, and for the next thirteen years after.

**Hannah and Kathryn Gallagher**

Born March 23, 1754, Hannah and Kathryn learned the truth about their father from a very early age. Though Anna heard neither hide nor hair of Angelus for the next thirteen years to come, she never lost her fear that one day their paths would cross again. She was determined that should anything ever happen to her (as she was certain it would), her daughters would at the very least be armed with knowledge. She insisted the twins learn everything there was to know about their father, from the man Liam once was, to the monster he became. While other children were learning reading, writing, and arithmetic, Hannah and Katie also had to learn staking, beheading, and immolating. While Clara was reading "The Three Little Pigs" to Michael, Anna was reading to her children from the Galway Gazette. Other parents were schooling their offspring on the great political figures of the day, as Anna quizzed her girls on sketches of Angelus and Darla, that she had either penciled herself, or taken from the various newspaper articles she had collected over the years. Recalls Katie:

_"Above all," she told us, "trust your instincts. If you feel the need to run away, even if it seems silly, do it. Better to be safe and silly, than sane and dead. And listen to your dreams. Your dreams can be your best defense. If I had ignored my dreams, I wouldn't be here today, and neither would you." And yada, yada, yada. Blah, blah, blah. She never quit. She just went on and on. "Don't do this" and "Don't do that". "Beware of this"; "Watch out for that". I swear she was like the poster child for paranoia. There were times we thought she was plum crazy._

"Plum crazy" or not, Anna's paranoia proved correct. In late December 1767, Anna was forced to make a choice. Her employers insisted on throwing a Christmas party for their family and friends, and they insisted on having it at night. "Who ever heard of having a party during the day?" They chided Anna as she tried to plead her case. They also insisted that Anna attend as one of the many servants catering the event. She had to choose between breaking her own hard and fast rule by venturing out of her home in the evening hours, or losing her job and her sole means of supporting her family. Though the very idea of going after dark terrified her almost as much Angelus himself, she made the difficult decision to obey her employers and agreed to spend her Christmas serving canapé to French socialites. It was a mistake that would cost Anna her life.

**A Party to Die For**

Though Hannah and Katie were often bored with their mother's rantings and ravings, they did not ignore her teachings. On that fateful Christmas Eve, 1767, scarcely two hours after Anna and Clara had left for their mandatory Christmas party, Hannah had a vision. Katie recalls the event with crystal clarity.

_Michael and I were sitting at the table after supper, while Hannah cleared the dishes- It was her turn. All of sudden she just froze and dropped the plates she was holding. She just let them fall. Didn't even try to catch them or anything. She just stood there, like a statue, and her eyes got as big as silver dollars. She didn't move or say anything at first. And then her face got real pale, and she started trembling all over like she'd seen a ghost or something. I'd have thought she was having a seizure, if we'd known about such things back then. But at the time I was almost sure there was something in the room with us. I even looked around to see what it was that had frightened her so, but there was nothing there. I got up and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "What's wrong? What is it?" I asked her. Still, she didn't say nothing. I shook her again, harder, and finally she seemed to come out of it. She looked at me with that dear-in-the-headlights look and she started gasping for breath, like she couldn't find her voice. Y'know like that little girl in Jurassic Park when they were first trying to get away from the T-Rex? Then she finally gets her breath and she just says, "Mom!" And before I could ask her what she was talking about or anything, she grabs her coat and she's out the door like a fart in the wind._

**Hannah to the rescue**

Spurred to action by visions of her mother in peril, Hannah raced into the night towards the elegant mansion where Anna and Clara made their living. Little did she know, it was to be a futile attempt, which would only succeed in cutting her own life drastically short. She arrived at the house just in time to see Anna and Angelus struggling in the front walk.

At this point, it becomes necessary to backtrack a bit, in order to more fully explain the circumstances which led to the struggle Hannah witnessed between her parents. After much cajoling, Angel agreed to relay his version of events.

_**I met the Landry's at another social function earlier in the week, and managed to get myself invited to their Christmas party (I told you I could be charming) I was just having a drink with- okay from Clara, when Anna interrupted us. Too late to do Clara any good, I'm afraid. Of course, she recognized me right away. It's not as if I'd aged at all since the last time we'd met. Anyway she didn't even try to put on any kind of a front, for the sake of her job or whatever. I barely had time to register who she was, before she bolted out of the room. Well, it was on after that. You know how I love a chase.**_

_**I dropped Clara's body like she didn't even matter (Hell, she didn't as far as I was concerned), and took off after Anna. I took my time, so I wouldn't raise any alarms. No doubt she had already raised a few alarms of her own, running off like she did. Besides, it wasn't like I was worried about losing her. I could walk faster than she could run, and the place was packed with people. She would have had to push her way through a good deal of them on her way out of the house. Sure enough, as I made my way through the sitting room and into the foyer towards the front door, a path had already been made for me. So keeping pace with her wasn't any trouble at all.**_

I must pause, here, to share some interesting observations I noted during Angel's recollections. Though he was very much in possession of his soul at the time of this conversation, reliving these memories seemed to have the effect of bringing the personality of Angelus closer to the surface. His mannerisms, the inflection in his words, even his facial expressions began to resemble those of Angel's evil counterpart. Having had my own less than pleasant encounters with Angelus, it chilled me to the bone to witness this transformation as Angel relived his past. Still, I feel it's important to document his side of the story whenever possible.

_**I caught up with her just a few feet from the road. Poor thing thought she was home free. She didn't even know I was there. I caught her by the hair and spun her around to face me. She was terrified. I could smell the fear on her like a perfume. For a moment, I just held her there, savoring her scent, studying her face. She'd hardly changed at all since the last time I saw her. She was older, of course, a bit tired around the eyes, but underneath the age lines, she was still the same Anna. My Anna.**_

_**I thought back to the last time I'd held her in my arms, back home in Galway. I could still remember how her skin felt next to mine, how good her hair smelled. A part of me wanted that back. To make her mine again, and keep her by my side for all eternity. And I would have done just that if Hannah hadn't interrupted us. Instead, I just snapped her neck and turned my attention to Hannah.**_


	4. Hannah Gallagher

**Chapter Three**

**Hannah Gallagher 1754-1767**

**Reluctant Hero**

Convincing Hannah to share her story was even more difficult than convincing Angel to share his. What Angelus did to her, I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, nor do I blame her for her reluctance in revisiting that horrific period in her past. The terrorists of September 11th surrendered far more readily, and under considerably less cruelty than that with which Angelus brutally tortured Hannah. Nearly two and a half centuries have passed since her terrifying and excruciating imprisonment at the hands of her father, and her sleep is still disturbed by these painful memories. Still, the courage and fortitude with which she faced the hellish experience, and with which she continues battling her personal demons merit chronicling. It is my hope that in reading the details of Hannah's death, others may find comparable strength in themselves should their lives take a similar turn.

I expressed this hope to Hannah, and after loosening her tongue with most of a bottle of expensive French wine, and making me promise to keep the liquor flowing, she ultimately agreed to talk to me. I can only imagine how difficult the recollection was for her, and her cooperation is further evidence of her bravery. She has my deepest admiration and respect. Perhaps in finally sharing her tale, Hannah can at last find the peace of mind she so richly deserves.

**In Her Own Words**

The remainder of this chapter is the complete and unedited account of the events that took place after Hannah's arrival at her mother's place of employment. I've allowed Hannah to tell the story in her own words, without interruption. What is written here is an exact transcript of her narration.

_**Author's Note:**__ The following account may be too disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised._

**Vampire Interrupted**

_He was already feeding from her when I rode up on them. I couldn't believe what I saw. It was just like in my vision. I just knew that he was about to make her a vampire, and I was so shocked that I called out to her without even thinking. "Mom!" I shouted, or whatever we said back then, I don't even remember. Katie swears that it was 'Mom", but I really don't think that was it. But I'm sure it wasn't 'Mother', either- that's such an ugly word. Anyway, it didn't even occur to me that that was a bad idea. I just wanted to stop him. That was a mistake, and I knew it as soon as I said it. He looked up at me, then he looked at her, raising his eyebrows like, "Oh really?", then he looked at me again, and I knew then that he recognized me as his daughter. Mom always said we were the spittin' image of our Aunt Kathy. I could see it in his eyes that he saw it too. And Mom saw it too, how he knew I was his child, and she screamed for me to run, but before she could finish, before I could even react, he snapped her neck like she was nothin', then just dropped her like a bundle of rags. I screamed, "No!" and tried to turn my horse around to get out of there, but he was too fast. He got behind us and grabbed my horse by the tail. He reared up and bucked me off; I couldn't hold on, and we both tumbled to the ground- Angelus and I, not the horse. He got away._

_I struggled to my feet, and almost got away, I thought, but Angelus grabbed me from behind and caught me in like a bear hug. He got me in a chokehold like this (She wraps her arm around her own throat to demonstrate) and pulled me to him real close so I couldn't move. He lifted me up by neck, and I could feel his breath on my skin. Yeah, I know. Vampires don't breathe. I know all too well. But that doesn't mean they- we- don't expel air. Especially when they're trying to scare the bejeezus out of you. I thought for sure I was a goner then, that he was gonna kill me. I wish he had. It would've been better than this life I've got now. Do you have any idea what it's like to become a vampire at thirteen? No. You don't. I can't get a driver's license or passport unless I forge them (which I do), I can't get into a regular bar (one that doesn't cater specifically to demons) or buy cigarettes. I don't even have boobs for Christ's sake! I'm doomed to spend eternity trapped in the body of a little girl! It sucks!_

_I tried to scream and get away, but he put his face down close to my ear and he says in this creepy whisper, "Hush, now. There'll be no need for any of that. Daddy's here." I can still hear his voice in my head, just as clear as if he were sitting here now. Every day, right before I fall asleep. Y'know how right before you pass out, sometimes you get that little sleep-jerk? It's like that. Only I get Angelus telling me it's going to be all right. So then he manhandles me into this carriage he's got waiting and he tells me not to make a scene. "I'm not gonna hurt ye," he says, "I just wanna talk to ye." I knew he was full of shit, but then he implied that he'd kill me if I made a fuss, just like he did my mom. Yeah, like he wasn't gonna kill me anyway. But he made it sound like if I just cooperated, he'd let me go. I didn't wanna die, at least not then. If I'd known what he had in my mind, I might have changed my tune. But I didn't. So I just went along, thinking I'd bide my time until I could find a way out. It's not like I could've gotten away, anyhow. He was too strong, and he had a hold of me, good._

_I couldn't see where we were going to tell you much about where we ended up. It was just this little cottage somewhere, no neighbors that I could see. He'd probably killed them all anyway. It was a little nicer looking than ours, but not much bigger. He took me into a back bedroom and tied me up on the bed. Tight. A boy scout, he ain't, but the man could tie a knot. There was no escaping. Then he just left me there. I don't know for how long. The windows had these thick, thick coverings, so I couldn't see when it was daytime again. I had no frame of reference at all. I think he was trying psyche me out or something. Like I wasn't already freaked out enough. Anyway, it worked. By the time he came back in, I was so messed up wondering what was going on out there, and what was going to happen to me, that I was actually glad to see him. That was when the nightmare really began._

_I don't know how long he kept me there. Days? Weeks? I don't think it was months, but who knows? Time sort of loses all meaning when you're being tortured to death. And you'd be surprised what you can live through in the meantime. I was beaten, burned, bitten and violated. I was cut, whipped, branded. Anything that could be broken was. And for no other reason than it was fun, and because I had the audacity to be spawned from his loins. And yeah, I screamed. I screamed a lot in the beginning. Till I realized he got off on it. Then I'd try to hold it in as much as I could. He didn't like that. So he'd come up with something worse, so that I'd have no choice. He was always coming up with new and interesting ways to keep the game going. That's what it was for him. A game. He wasn't trying to get information from me or anything- at least not at first- he just wanted to see how much I could take before it didn't matter what he did anymore. Sometimes the pain would get to be too much, and I'd pass out. He'd up the ante again so that I'd wake up. He wouldn't let me just die. It was to be on his terms or not at all. Once or twice he even went so far as to bring in a doctor to treat me, so he could start over again._

_When I was finally so exhausted from the pain and the blood loss, that I didn't have the energy to either scream or keep from screaming, and I was so hungry I wanted to chew my own arm off, he'd bring food. "You've got to keep your strength up," he'd say. You know, so he could torture me some more. I knew it was just another way to keep me alive, to keep the game going, so at first I tried to refuse. That was when he used the branding iron for the first time. He wouldn't even let me starve myself. The first time I refused to eat, he got out that branding iron and- you don't even wanna know what he did with that. And I screamed to high heaven. I didn't even think I could scream anymore, but I did, and then he shoved the food in, causing me to choke on it. Other times he'd squeeze the sides of my mouth and pry my jaw open to make me eat. Or he'd just force it in, and literally gag me with the spoon. Finally, I decided it was easier to just cooperate. He always waited until I was practically starving, and meal times were the only reprieve I got except for the couple hours a night when he went to town to do whatever else it was that tickled his fancy. So I learned to appreciate to brief respite the meals allowed me._

**Death Becomes Her**

_At some point, I must have mentioned Katie. I don't really remember it; I was so out of it most of the time. But I remember him asking me questions about her. "Who is she to you?" "Where is she?" And after he found out she was my sister, "Where do I find her?" "Is she mine?" Especially that last one. The idea that he might have yet another relative to maim and torture, and another heir, at that, really got him going. Like it gave him renewed purpose. But by this time I knew I wasn't getting out of there. It didn't matter what I said or did, he wasn't gonna let up until he'd exhausted every option in his playbook. So I didn't really care what he did to me anymore. I was just waiting it out until he got bored with me and decided to finally finish me off. No matter what, I wasn't about to sell out my sister. No way in Hell._

_Eventually, he realized that and either because he was getting bored and wanted to kick it up a notch, or cuz he thought it would make me more compliant, more willing to give him Katie, he made me an offer. "You want this to be over, don't you?" He told me, " I can make it stop." All I had to do was agree to let him make me a vampire. The pain would stop and I would finally be free. Well, the very idea terrified me even more than everything I'd already been through. That was the last thing I wanted. I was ready to die, and I wanted to stay that way. And I knew that if I became a vampire, there would be even more ways for him to hurt me. And there would be no limit to what he could do to me, what I could live through. So I told him to go fuck himself. He made me pay dearly for that. You ever had your fingernails ripped out? I mean when they weren't already about to fall out on their own? That shit hurts. It's even worse than branding, if you can believe it. After a while, the cells die and you don't even really feel it anymore. I mean, God, these days you have people doing it to themselves and calling it art. But you'll never find anyone having their nails ripped out for the sake of fashion. Even the most hardcore of the hardcore punkers won't go that far. And with good reason. That shit hurts worse than childbirth. Or maybe it does. I don't know, since I never got to have kids. Hell, after what he did to me, I doubt I could've even if I hadn't died._

_Anyways, I fought off that notion as long as I could. I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse. I was wrong. Like I said, he never seemed to run out of ideas. When I finally really couldn't stand it anymore, I screamed at him, "All right! You're gonna do it anyway, so just do it already and get it over with!" But no, that wasn't good enough. It wasn't enough for him just to have my consent; I had to want it. He wanted me to beg him to change me. So it went on. And on! And I really couldn't take it anymore, but he kept dishing it out anyway. And I was so broken, and battered and bruised, that had she lived, I think my own mother wouldn't have recognized me. And I was screaming and crying and begging him to please just kill me, just make it stop. But he wouldn't. Not until I gave him what he wanted. But I didn't want to become a vampire._

_I didn't want to be like him. But I was just so tired. I wanted it end. And if becoming a vampire was the only way to end the suffering, then fine. I was ready to accept that. So I asked him again. "Okay. I'll do it. Please. Just make it stop." And do you think that was good enough? No! He didn't believe me. "I think you're just saying that so I'll let you go." And he was right. I was. But more than that, I just wanted him to lay off me. To stop the pain. Even if I had to spend the rest of eternity tied to that bed, if it meant he'd leave me alone, if he'd just stop with the branding iron and the hot pokers and the fingernails, and… everything else, then I was all for it. If he wanted me to beg him to make me a vampire, then I'd beg. I'd plead; I'd get down on my hands and knees- if I wasn't tied up, that is- whatever he wanted, if it would finally be over. "No! Please! You don't understand," I cried. "I really mean it. I've never wanted anything else my whole life. Please, Father." Yes, I actually said that. The only time I've ever called him that, and the only time I ever will. Even saying his name still leaves a sour taste in my mouth. 'Angel' my ass! "I wanna be like you," I told him. "I wanna learn from you. Please! I'll do anything you want."_

_Well, either I finally gave the Academy Award winning performance, or else he was intrigued by my offer to do anything he asked. Either way, he finally agreed to give me what he insisted I wanted. He was waiting for me when I woke up the following evening, and to my surprise, he had untied me. He'd also brought me this poor wretch of girl from town for my first meal. The poor thing was scared out of her wits, and she was right to be. She reminded me of myself, actually. I didn't wanna hurt her, I really didn't. I didn't wanna be anything like Angelus. Even a little bit. But I didn't wanna find out what he'd do to me if I refused. I was done going down that road. If Angelus said, "Jump", I was ready to say, "How high?" He told me to feed, so I fed. I'm sorry about the girl, I really am, but truth be known she was dead no matter what._

**Homecoming**

_Thankfully, he didn't take me up on my offer to do anything. At least not in the way you think. After dinner- or is it breakfast?- he let me get cleaned up, and he brought me a new dress to wear. Probably stolen from whoever he'd picked up for his own breakfast. I didn't care. I put it on anyway. My own clothes were nothing but rags by then, and like I said, I wasn't gonna do anything that might piss him off. Then he said he was taking me home. What he meant, of course, was I was taking him home. To meet Katie. Do to her what he did to me. Who knows? Who cares? Not that I no longer cared about my sister, or what happened to her. I did. I do. But I knew by then she wouldn't be there. It was part of our Emergency Plan. If ever one of us didn't come home when we were supposed to, whoever was left was to gather whatever they could carry, and get as far away as possible. So I knew, that when our Mother and I didn't come home that first night, Katie wouldn't have been foolish enough to stick around and wait. Especially with the way I left after having my first vision._

Sure enough, when we got to the house, it was empty and the door was standing open. What was left of our stuff was thrown around haphazardly like someone had left in a hurry, and of course she would have. Angelus started tearing through the house looking for some clue as to where they went. (He didn't have to be invited, cuz no one lived there anymore) Of course, there was nothing to find. I don't think Katie even knew where she was going until she got there. But I didn't stick around while he finished searching the place. I followed him into the main room and acted like I was looking, too, but as soon as he went to check the bedrooms, I was out of there. And I made sure I was long gone before he even knew I was missing.


	5. Kathryn Katie Gallagher

**Chapter Four**

**Kathryn "Katie" Gallagher 1754-1771**

**No Place Like Home**

Katie waited until sunrise for her mother and sister to return, following that fateful evening in late December. When day broke, and there was still no sign of either of them, she got Michael out of bed and prepared to leave her childhood home of Marseilles for parts unknown. Naturally, Michael was skeptical as to the severity of the situation, and reluctant to leave the cottage that had been his home for all of his seventeen years. Though like Hannah and Katie, he too had heard Anna's stories about Angelus, and about vampires in general, Michael was reluctant to believe they were anything more than mere fables. He was convinced the tales were nothing more than simply a means of discouraging unruly behavior. "Be good, kiddies, or the vampires will get you." He thought that if they waited long enough, all three women would return home safe and unharmed. But Michael hadn't read the newspaper articles reporting on the mysterious killings that had swept through the Irish village of Galway, leaving it virtually devoid of inhabitants. He hadn't read how the victims of those killings had been found with unexplained twin puncture wounds on their throats, and completely drained of their blood. He hadn't read the similar reports spanning the past thirteen years, leaving a bloody trail all along the British countryside and on into parts of Western Europe.

Hannah and Katie had not only read those articles, but had been constantly quizzed on, and forced to memorize them. So, when the darkness gave way to sunlight, and neither Hannah, her mother, or even Michael's mother had returned home, Katie knew they were dead, or as good as. While Katie yet to have a vision like her sister had experienced before her hasty departure, or a dream like her mother had spoken of, her instincts told her Marseilles was no longer safe for them. If they awaited another nightfall, they were sure to be destroyed, possibly by the very loved ones they were already missing.

Though Michael balked at the idea of abandoning their home so suddenly, Katie knew he would not stay behind while she ran off by herself. They had grown up together, were almost like brother and sister, and Katie knew he felt at least somewhat responsible for her. So she packed a bag with a change of clothes each for her and Michael, a few personal belongings, a handful of stakes and vials of holy water her mother had been collecting should the need arise, as well as the diary/scrapbook Anna had been keeping, and left her home for the last time. Sure enough, she had taken but a few steps outside, when Michael appeared by her side, just as she knew he would. Hannah had taken the family's only horse, so they were forced to traverse the three miles to town on foot, taking turns carrying the overstuffed satchel which held both of their belongings.

**Daniel Holtz**

As one could imagine, the sight of an adolescent male and a barely teenaged girl toting luggage attracted quite a bit of attention when they finally entered the small café in the middle of town. Both children were clearly distraught and it was obvious that Katie hadn't slept. Her eyes were swollen around the edges, and had a glaze that only comes from severe trauma and lack of sleep. Katie made a concentrated effort to ignore the curious stares from the other patrons and chose a table situated in a patch of sunlight pouring through the open door, with an unobstructed path of escape, while Michael went to the counter to order food. No sooner had she sat at the table and put her head in her hands, mourning the loss of her mother and sister, when a man in his mid-forties approached her from deeper within the café. Katie describes the encounter in her section of the family diary.

_**25th December, 1767**_

_I was already tense and on the alert for potential danger when I sat down, so the moment he appeared at my side, I sat rigid and prepared to make my escape. He seemed to sense this and put his hands out in front of him in a gesture of surrender and said, "Easy, child. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you." Something stirred in me then. It was as if I were sharing Hannah's memories, as if we had become one. I could clearly hear Angelus uttering similar words in my mind, though I have never heard him speak. I knew it was his voice I was hearing, and that it was Hannah to whom he had been speaking. I shifted in my chair and made to bolt for the door, into the sun, where our mother had always taught us was the only truly safe place. The man did the most amazing thing, then. It was as if he somehow knew it was vampires which caused my trepidation. He looked over my shoulder at the beam of sunlight coming through the door, then he deliberately walked around the table, making certain that I could track his movements, and stood right in the middle of the patch of sun. Of course, this meant he was also blocking my only means of escape. But I knew then that he couldn't be a vampire, and I felt a tremendous weight lifted from my shoulders._

The man introduced himself as Daniel Holtz and told Katie that he and his friends were self-appointed vampire hunters on the trail of the very pair of vampires which aroused such terror in Katie, Angelus and his paramour, Darla. It turned out that three years prior, while Mr. Holtz was away on a raiding party, Angelus and Darla had gone to his home and murdered his wife, infant son, and young daughter, who would have been around Katie's age had she lived. When he returned home, he found his wife and son dead in a heap by the door. His daughter, however, appeared unharmed. Holtz initially thought it a Godsend, that for whatever reason, Angelus had chosen to spare her. He soon came to learn that was not the case, and that his sweet girl had been made a vampire. Though the poor child seemed not to have a clue as to what had happened to her, Holtz could not abide a vampire in his home; he knew that the creature before him was no longer the little girl he loved, but the same sort of beast he and his party had taken upon themselves to eliminate. So he took his daughter into his arms, and held her, rocking her and singing to her gently through the night.

Come sunrise the next morning, he scooped her up, and amid her squealing protests, hurled the fledgling vampire out into the deadly sunlight. His last memory of his daughter was of watching her tiny form consumed with flames as she screamed for mercy that would never come. From then on, Holtz swore vengeance on the monsters that had done this to him. He made it his life's mission to destroy not only all vampires in general, but to vanquish Angelus and Darla in particular.

Listening to Holtz's heartrending tale moved Katie to share with him her own tale of woe. She told him of her mother and her stories, even admitting that Angelus was the demonic incarnation of her father. She revealed that her mother and Michael's had been employed at a Christmas party the previous evening, and described the circumstances of Hannah's vision and the urgency with which she departed following the episode. She finished by explaining the failure of either of the three to return home during the night. Holtz agreed that Angelus had likely killed all three ladies, admitting that he had cornered the beast just days before and had unwittingly allowed him to escape. Katie relates Holtz's story to the best of her recollections.

_Apparently him and his crew caught up with Angelus outside a jewelry store with some fledge. The newbie had broken a window. That's how Daniel noticed them in the first place. He said he had him dead to rights, but didn't wanna kill him right away and lose his chance to get Darla, too. So he interrogated him about where she was. Angelus was all over giving her up, but the problem was Darla was with junior's honey and started getting all uppity about turning in his woman. (shrugs) Angelus used the distraction to rabbit._

After confessing his failure, Holtz offered Katie and Michael his sincerest condolences on their loss, and accepting a generous portion of blame, assured them he would do everything in his power to see that Angelus paid dearly for his crimes. Their conversation was interrupted then, when a member of Holtz's team burst through the doorway demanding his immediate attention. The young man was in his mid-twenties, and was in a clear state of distress. His hair was standing straight up as if he had been continually pulling at it, and his face had a pallor that suggested extreme terror. In a harried tone, he spoke of a massacre having taken place in an extravagant mansion just on the edge of town. Evidence suggested the carnage had been wrought by vampires and bore the unique and unmistakable stamp of Holtz' nemesis, Angelus. Katie recalled her mother's description of the house and its location, and insisted she and Michael be allowed to accompany the troop to the crime scene, to discern if it was indeed the same home Anna and Clara had traveled to the night before, and whether the two women and her sister were among the recently deceased.

**House of 1000 Corpses**

Though Holtz was reluctant to expose a child of Katie's tender age to such unimaginable horror, he understood her need for the truth, and allowed the two teenagers to accompany him and his team to the site. Upon setting foot on the grounds, the first thing Katie became aware of, after the overwhelming chaos of various city officials scurrying about the property collecting evidence, was the crumpled form of her mother's corpse on the front lawn, tossed carelessly aside as if she were no more than a heap of garbage. Police inspectors were still conducting their preliminary investigations and therefore none of the bodies had yet been moved from their initial positions. Katie found minor solace in the fact that while Anna's throat bore the telltale puncture wounds of a vampire attack, she had also suffered a broken neck. Whatever terror had filled her final moments, her death had been swift, and there was nothing indicating to Katie that her mother had tasted even a drop of Angelus' blood. She would not rise again to join her father in his reign of terror. With a whispered prayer, Katie bade her mother a final goodbye and continued on into the house, where the true carnage lie.

The scene inside was something Katie could not have conceived even in her worst nightmares. During one of our earliest conversations, at a demon bar in Los Angeles following Angelus' re-emergence in January 1998, Katie gladly shared with me her memories of that day.

_Well, the first thing I noticed was the shear… deliberateness with which the bodies had been placed. This was no mere slaughter. It was a bloody art exhibit. Madame Tussaud's with real live subjects! (Or real dead ones if you wanna be nitpicky) Not that I'm condoning it, mind you. But clearly a lot of time and effort had gone into setting it up. Couples here and there locked in perpetual embraces. Men sitting in armchairs with pipes protruding from their lips, or their eyeglasses placed just so on the bridge of their noses, seeming to enjoy great French literature. Children- yes, children- seated around the Christmas tree, their little legs tucked up underneath them, propped against brightly colored packages like they were about to rejoice in the wondrous treats inside. In the kitchen, women were seated around the table as if they had just passed out while having dinner. In the study, a group of fellows appeared to be having a friendly game of Poker._

_Michael never left my side while I explored the house and every now then I'd hear him gasp or curse or utter the Lord's name in vain. Me, I think I entered a state of shock when I stumbled across my mother's remains lying there all alone on the grass outside like she wasn't important enough to join the people inside. So by the time we discovered his mother under the stairs locked in a rather compromising position with Monsieur Landry, the man of the house, I was desensitized enough to the depravity of it all, that I was able to offer him a small bit of comfort, assuring him that no, Clara wasn't having an affair with a prominent married man. Angelus had arranged them that way for maximum shock value._

Though they continued to search the house from top to bottom, they found no sign of Hannah. Only Katie's instincts told her that her sister had ever been there at all. With heavy hearts, and a renewed sense of purpose, Katie and Michael rode with the Holtz team back to the boarding house the troop was using as their headquarters. As Katie explains:

_It was always boarding houses because it was the only way to insure safety in the evening hours. Vampires don't have to be invited into motel rooms. Something about it not being a real residence. A boarding house is still someone's home, so the usual rules still apply._

**Close, But No Cigar**

After experiencing the museum of death that was the Landry house, Katie and Michael became an official part of Holtz's hunting party. Mr. Holtz took it upon himself to begin training the pair in basic combat skills, starting primarily with the proper usage of a crossbow. Once he was satisfied that his newest team members had at least an elementary understanding of the weapon, Holtz insisted that they all sit down to a healthy meal before commencing the dangerous hunt for Angelus and his clan. Katie consumed her portion with half-hearted enthusiasm, eager to begin the search while her father's trail was still warm. She was resolute in her newfound mission to find and destroy the beast responsible for her family's extinction, could not rest until she determined once and for all what had become of her sister. Katie made herself a solemn vow that even it took the rest of her life to do so, she would discover Hannah's fate, and if the unthinkable had happened, if her twin had joined the ranks of the undead, then she too would be vanquished.

They left the boarding house when the mid-day sun was high in the sky, armed with stakes and crossbows, to begin the search. Representing themselves as aiding in a police investigation, they canvassed the entire town of Marseilles, going door-to-door, and house-to-house exploring every nook and cranny for any scrap of evidence as to Angelus' whereabouts. Though they scoured every square inch of the French city, and thought they had left no stone unturned, they found not the slightest sign of Hannah, Angelus, nor his clan. The team hunted tirelessly until the sun was dangerously low in the sky, and night was nearly upon them, but to no avail. It appeared Angelus had already moved on.

Though Angel flatly refused to discuss any details with me regarding Hannah, he did admit that Holtz and his party had, in truth, come perilously close to discovering his hideout, and agreed to explain how he had escaped detection.

_**The cottage was isolated from the rest of the town, and hidden by a copse of tall trees. Unless you knew the house was there… well, you wouldn't know the house was there. I mean you wouldn't think to look for it. And I'm pretty sure I killed the only people that knew about it. It was maybe an hour or so before sunset, and I remember hearing the hoof-beats and the shouts of the men from the other side of the trees. They couldn't have been more than a hundred yards away. I glanced out the window (it was shaded on that side) and waited to see if they would head my way, but they never did. As I watched, they turned the horses around and headed back into town. They never knew how close they'd really come.**_

**Katie and Michael**

Over the next several years, Katie and Michael spent their days training with Holtz and his team, and their days hunting vampires. They soon gained proficiency in all battle skills. This included long distance attacks with long bows and crossbows alike, the graceful skill of sword-play for the more personal encounters, as well as hand-to-hand combat for those times the often found themselves in, where the use of large weapons was impossible. They learned the art of throwing knives and stakes with deadly accuracy.

With their new comrades-in-arms, they tracked Angelus and his minions all over Western Europe, nearly catching them several times, but ultimately losing sight of them, time after time. It seemed Angelus was always one step ahead of them. Katie found it a nice change of pace, however, to have Angelus on the run, rather than the other way around, and she knew it would be just a matter of time until they found each other again. She used that time to continue refining her fighting skills, ensuring her readiness for that inevitable moment.

In March 1770, Katie and Michael were married in a beautiful outdoor ceremony, under the bright mid-day sun. They spent their honeymoon in Brussels, Belgium, where they celebrated their nuptials by cleaning out a vampire nest in an abandoned building in a more impoverished sector of the city. They found no sign of Angelus that time, but they did meet a scholarly gentlemen and his young female charge, who also showed up at the raid on the nest. The man introduced himself as Hans Brüder, and said that the young woman with him, Sofia Castillo, was a vampire Slayer- the one girl in all the world chosen from her generation to fight the vampires, demons and forces of darkness. Hans was her Watcher, a member of an elite order known as the Watcher's Council, charged with the protection and training of the Slayer. He too, was well aware of Angelus and his exploits. The council archives were rife with reports of his notorious crimes. After explaining her own terrifying encounters with the vampire, as well as her biological relationship with him, Herr Brüder offered his card and all but insisted she contact either he or the Council should she require further assistance beyond what Mr. Holtz and his crew could provide. Katie took the proffered business card, unaware at the time how soon that assistance would be necessary.

May 1771 found Katie heavy with child, and it was decided, much to her chagrin, that it was no longer safe for her actively participate in the hunt for Angelus and his kind. While Katie excelled in every manner of combat her mentor, Holtz, had taught her, and was an excellent markswoman when it came to throwing and shooting alike, Michael deemed the risk to their unborn far too great to send her to into battle. So it was, when they got word that Angelus and his clan had taken over a lavish home in the Roman countryside, Katie was not allowed to accompany the raiding party. She instead remained behind at the boarding house with the midwife Michael had hired to tend to her in the final stage of her pregnancy.

_I remember it like it was yesterday. Michael, Daniel, and about eight others left to invade the house. It was just around noon. I spent the day wearing a hole in the rug, waiting for them to come back. Time seemed to stand still. Then, all of a sudden I came over with this terrible feeling of dread. My stomach got all tied in knots, and for a minute, I thought I was going into labor. Then the feeling passed, and I could clearly see the raid in my mind's eye. Men were falling left and right, Michael right in the middle of it. Then, when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I saw Michael cut down with his very own sword. It was like all the strength went out of me then, and all I could do was sit on the sofa and stare into space, hoping it wasn't true, even though I knew in my heart that it was. But there was nothing I could do but wait._

_The rumors of Angelus and his vampire family inhabiting the Italian farmhouse were proven correct. What Holtz and his team failed to realize until it was too late, was that the rumors had been started by Angelus, himself. It was a trap set specifically for Holtz and his soldiers. When the men arrived at the house, Angelus and his minions waited for his would be assassins to break into the home, then blocked all the exits, sealing them inside. The windows had all been thoroughly boarded over, so not even the sun's harsh rays could afford them any assistance. The hunters were outnumbered at least two to one, and could not even reach the windows to pry back some of the boards. Only three men managed to escape the ambush, Holtz and two others. Michael was not among them._

Holtz returned to the boarding house just after sunset, full of sorrow and regret, to deliver the devastating news to Michael's new widow. Though her vision had already made her aware of the tragedy, having it confirmed by Holtz's words and battered appearance was still quite a blow. Katie assured her mentor that she didn't hold him accountable for raid's failure, or for the death of her husband. She accepted her loss as part of a plan the fates had designed to rid the world of Angelus' brand of evil once and for all. Her conviction granted her renewed strength and determination to continue the hunt until she had at last succeeded in eliminating the demon that wore her father's face. First, however, she had to protect her children (by now she realized she was carrying twins), and that meant leaving the security of Holtz's army and striking out on her own. Amid vehement protests from Holtz and his remaining troops, Katie once again packed her bag, the same satchel with which she had left Marseilles, and began the long journey to London, and the Watchers' Council.

**The Council of Watchers**

Katie arrived in London without incident. Locating the headquarters of the Watchers' Council, however, proved to be another matter entirely. Hans Brüder, the man who had identified himself as being part of the illustrious Council, had failed to mention the secrecy with which they operated. She had lost the business card Herr Brüder had given her with his contact information, and was therefore reduced to inquiring of the locals. None had the slightest idea what she was talking about, and most behaved as though she were crazy. On occasion, she heard murmured utterances of "Bloody Frog", or "Daft French git" (She didn't bother explaining to them that while she was raised in France, and still bore the accent, she was actually full-blooded Irish). She didn't let any of this deter her, however, and continued to ask everyone she encountered if they knew where she might find the elusive Council. Still, time was running out as she expected to give birth at any time, and Katie was getting discouraged. Finding the Watchers' Council was her last best hope for ensuring the safety of her children, and exacting her revenge on Angelus. If she didn't locate them soon, she feared all would be lost. Angelus would find her first, and eliminate Katie, her children, and the entire Gallagher-O'Connor line in one fell swoop. Finally, when Katie had nearly resigned herself to a terrible fate, she got a lucky break.

While during the course of her inquiries, no one would admit to having knowledge of any organization operating under the moniker of Watchers' Council, at least one person had been lying. In late May she received an unexpected visitor at the boarding house in the form of a well-dressed gentleman identifying himself as Charles Dupree. Normally she would have been wary of strange visitors regardless of their attire, but this gentleman had the courtesy to call during the daylight hours, so she knew he couldn't have been a vampire. Mr. Dupree explained that he himself was not a Watcher, but an operative sent to investigate when the Council received word of her inquiries. Katie described her encounter with Hans Brüder, then for what seemed to her to be the umpteenth time, launched into the convoluted tale of her parentage and upbringing, her escape from Marseilles, and the circumstances which led to her seeking the Council's assistance.

In truth, she need only have dropped the name of her father. It seemed Angelus had been a thorn in their collective sides for some time. Though he had only been active for less than twenty years, the Council had already compiled considerable data in their archives with regards to the vampire himself, as well as those known to travel in his company. Numerous attempts had been made to assassinate the beast, and all had been met with failure and substantial casualties. In the interest of avoiding further loss of life unnecessarily, the Council had been forced to relegate itself to mere data collection, hoping to eventually gather enough information to finally eradicate Angelus and his followers with minimal negative consequences. The Council would be most grateful, Dupree told her, for any additional knowledge Katie would be willing to impart.

She readily agreed to share all that she knew about Angelus, on the condition that the Council return the favor, as well as grant safe haven to her soon to be born children. Dupree agreed to pass her message to the Council Elders, and would return with a reply within the next twenty-four hours. True to his word, Mr. Dupree arrived at the boarding house the following morning to escort Katie to the Council headquarters. The Elders were eager to exchange information and were more than willing to tend to the safety of Katie's children. She was given her own room in the luxurious estate the Watchers' Council was using as their base of operations, and the best medical care the Council had at its disposal, which was in fact the best medical care anywhere.

After relaxing in a hot bath and donning fresh clothes, Katie was ushered into an upstairs office, which was grander than any other room she had seen to date. There, she was introduced to a distinguished elderly gentleman by the name of Winston Hughes. Katie took an immediate dislike to the man, and described him to me thus:

_Like most Watchers, he was a pompous ass. Right off he wanted me to tell him everything I knew about Angelus. Like he hadn't already got the whole sordid story from his boy before they came and got me. He insisted I must have left something out before, or maybe there was something Dupree had left out from our conversation. There wasn't, but I played along like maybe there was. He tried to act like he was just looking out for our mutual interest in getting rid of Angelus, but I could tell he was really just looking out for his own ginormous ass. He wanted to be the one to take the credit for bringing Angelus down, never mind that it would be my information that got him there. "My dear," he told me in that condescending way Watchers seem to be taught from Diaper School, "We both want the same thing. Help us help you." Like I was gonna fall for that. As much as I wanted to see my father dead, if Hughes thought I was dumb enough to just cough up what I knew, without any guarantee that I was gonna get anything back, then he had another think comin'. And I told him as much. I put on that same condescending air that he had used with me, y'know, so I'd be speaking his language, and I said, "My dear Mr. Hughes, this fight is very personal for me. Angelus has killed everyone important in my life. We share the same blood. It's only fitting that I be the one to take him out."_

I questioned whether she had actually used those words, considering the time period, but she waved me off, saying that was beside the point. Katie went on to say that she told Mr. Hughes she might be persuaded to allow the Council the honor of killing Angelus, if she received written assurance that her children would be safe and well cared for. Nothing, she explained to him, was more important to her than that. Hughes agreed to her terms and confessed that arrangements were already in the works for her children to be adopted immediately after their birth. There was a family in a relatively secluded section of town, that had been trying, so far unsuccessfully, to conceive their third child, and would be more than willing to accept Katie's children as their own.

_They were a 'good Christian family', he told me, and would be raised as morally apt, God-fearing citizens. I told him it wasn't God I was worried about them fearing. I said, "I don't know if you're aware, Mr. Hughes, but Angelus seems to have a fixation on killing his blood relations. Surely you've read the reports from Galway. You know his family were among his first victims upon rising from the grave." He indicated that he did know, and I explained that since he had eventually found my mother and sister, and had killed them both, I felt it was only a matter of time before he found me and my children as well. "They must be prepared," I told him, "for the inevitable day when Angelus finally knocks on their door. They need to know who he is, and what to do when they are confronted with him." I made it clear that I wanted them to know the truth about where they came from. Just as my sister and I had been taught, I wanted my children to be educated about their grandfather as soon as they were old enough to hear it. And by that, I meant when they were old enough to understand what was being said to them. Like at around five or six, if not sooner._

Initially, Mr. Hughes balked at the idea of exposing children to such horrors at so early an age, but given the circumstances, agreed that knowledge was likely to be their best weapon against any creatures seeking to do them harm. Having reached a mutual understanding, Katie and Mr. Hughes set about completing the required paperwork that would authorize he and the Council of Watchers to place Katie's children with the family Mr. Hughes had mentioned. The couple who would be adopting the children were named on the documents as George and Martha Penn. While the Penn's had no notions of vampires or any other such creatures the Council made its business to contend with (they were under the impression that Mr. Hughes was part of a reputable adoption agency), the documents clearly stated that the reality of the children's heritage be explained to them as early as was practical to do so. Additionally, the diary the Katie's mother had kept, and in which Katie herself had been diligently writing since leaving Marseilles, was to be passed on as soon as the children were capable of reading it. Failure to comply with any of the aforementioned mandates would constitute Breach of Contract, and would be grounds for the children's immediate removal. Periodic inspections would be made to ensure that all rules were being followed.

Once all legal business had been properly concluded, Mr. Hughes ordered a pot of tea be brewed and sent up to his office by one of the many servants in Council's employ. Over tea biscuits Katie once again relayed everything she knew about Angelus and his companions. She included all her mother had told her, and everything she had learned from Holtz and his men. Hughes promised to have all pertinent data from the Council's archives copied and released to Katie prior to her departure. Katie in turn gave her consent for the Council to copy whatever they wished from the diary after she had made one final entry.

_**2nd June, 1771**_

_My Dearest Daughters, Mary and Elizabeth:_

_By the time you are old enough to read this, I will likely no longer be walking among you. Or if I am, I pray our paths never cross. If you've read up to this point, then you understand why. Your grandfather, or rather the demon that wears his face, is obsessed with eliminating all ties to his humanity. That included the family of his birth, my mother, my sister, and it includes me, and it includes the two of you. I know in my heart it is only a matter of time before he finds me, particularly as I am even now planning to hunt him as surely as he is hunting me. When I find him, and if I lose, it won't be long before he comes after you as well._

_It is not my intention to frighten you unnecessarily, only to prepare you. Remember, like your grandmother always told your Aunt Hannah and I, don't go out after dark. Don't invite anyone into your home. Whether or not you know who they are. Vampires cannot enter a residence unless they are explicitly invited. A human being needs no such invitation. You need only open the door for them. Keep a cross with you at all times, and if you must travel by night, carry a wooden stake and some holy water as well. Any sharp piece of wood will do. Pierce the heart, and the vampire combusts. The holy water you can get from your priest, or any house of worship. It won't kill them, but it will burn them badly and you'll be able to escape. It's also an excellent way to force a vampire to reveal itself._

_Be vigilant, my darlings, and remember that I love you very much._

_Your loving Mother,_

_Kathryn Cooper_

**The Hunt Continues**

Mary and Elizabeth Cooper were born June 12, 1771. Eager to begin the hunt for her father, Katie did not stay to meet the Penn family, and instead left the Watchers' Council Headquarters a mere five days after giving birth. Had she stayed she never would have been able to leave, she told me, and it was important to continue the work she and Michael had begun when they had joined Holtz's team back in Marseilles. Michael had given his life for their shared cause, and if necessary, Katie felt it only right that she should give hers as well. In addition to the ample data they had collected on Angelus, the Council also gave Katie some new clothes, and a small but adequate sum of cash to begin her journey. She booked passage on a ship to southern Italy, intending to return to Rome, and reconnect with Holtz and what remained of his crew. Upon her arrival, she discovered the troops had already moved on and so, it appeared, had Angelus. When she visited the house where her husband and six other had lost their lives, she found it had been reduced to little more than a few planks of wood. Someone, perhaps Holtz or maybe even Angelus himself had set it alight some time before.

At a loss for how to proceed, Katie took a page out of Holtz's book and returned to the same boarding house where she had been staying when Michael had been killed. The lady of the house welcomed her with open arms, and expressed appropriate sympathy when Katie informed her that she had miscarried. Though the likelihood was negligible of Angelus making any such inquiry of the woman, Katie wanted to minimize the risk that any useful information would find its way to the wrong set of ears. After settling in to her room, Katie donned a set of men's clothing, courtesy of the Council, and broke the cardinal rule of venturing out after dark. Disguised as an average male patron, she went to the nearby cantina to converse with the locals in an attempt to discern what had become of Holtz, and who had set fire to the secluded farmhouse on the hill.

Rumors abounded as to what really took place at the old farmhouse. Some said it was vigilantes that had started the fire. Others said it had been troubled youth making mischief. Some even claimed that it had been God Himself, that a combination of hot sun, and dry tinder had caused the blaze. Finally, Katie was offered an explanation that was probably closer to the truth. According to the elderly gentleman whom everyone insisted was nothing more than a crazy drunk, it had been demon hunters. Apparently, after Katie had departed for London, Holtz had taken his remaining team, bearing torches and kerosene, and had burned the house to the ground, in an attempt to rout Angelus and his followers. Katie asked the kindly alcoholic if he had seen what had become of the dwelling's residents. The man admitted that he had not, as it had been quite dark, and the smoke had made it nearly impossible to see anything but the fire itself. He assured her, however, that nothing, "not man nor devil" could have survived the inferno.

Katie dared not hope for the impossible. Could it really be true that Holtz had finally succeeded in destroying Angelus? Katie didn't think so. She found it difficult to believe that Holtz would have attempted such a feat in the dark of night, when the vampires were likely to be elsewhere. Then again, perhaps he felt that time was of the essence and that it was best to act quickly. The part of her that dared to dream, in addition to being relieved, was amazed at how empty she felt at the prospect of Angelus' demise. As she had told Mr. Hughes at the Council, Katie felt it was her right, her duty to be the one to destroy him. He was, after all, her father. At the same time, the sense of loss she felt was more than that. It was almost a sadness, as if she were mourning him. Demon or no, he was her father. She felt a sudden kinship for the beast that she had never felt before, or ever imagined she would feel.

Still, the more rational part of her brain, the part responsible for her visions and the instincts that had saved her life on several occasions over the years, told her it could not possibly be true. Angelus was too smart, too cunning, to be eliminated in such an unworthy fashion. Again Katie was struck by the unexpected stream of emotions she was suddenly exhibiting towards her demon father. Still, regardless of how she felt, she had learned to trust her instincts. They had proved infallible over the previous four years, and at that moment her instincts were telling her that Angelus was still alive somewhere. She could feel it with every fiber of her being. Whether she liked it or not, she and Angelus did share the same blood, and that blood was going to lead her straight to him even if it killed her.

She returned to the boarding house that night with a new resolve, and without greeting any of the other residents, went directly to her room, where she would attempt for the first time to induce one of her visions, rather simply wait for them to come. Unsure whether it would work, she improvised a spell to aid her focus, and give her the type of vision she wanted, the kind that would tell her how to find her father. After withdrawing the most accurate sketch she could find of Angelus from the stack of documents the Council had given her, Katie made a small circle around herself using salt, holy water, and a few white candles. She lit the candles, then pricked her finger and smeared a bit of her blood on the sketch, thereby establishing a more tangible link between Katie and her father. She held the drawing in her hands and concentrated on the image for a moment, before closing her eyes, and letting her mind show her whatever it wanted her to see. As she described the experience to me, the present day Katie closed her eyes as well.

_I had no idea what I was doing, so at first I didn't think it was working. It was just a jumble of images. I thought I was making it all up. Y'know like memories from my childhood, stories my mother had told us, things I had never seen, only imagined. Then the pictures started to become clearer and I realized I wasn't just seeing my own imaginings of my mother's stories, I was seeing her actual memories. And Hannah's memories, and Michael's. What Angelus had done to them. And I saw Daniel's [Holtz] family struck down in the middle of the night. That was when the image really started to change, because then it was like I was seeing through his eyes. What he saw, how he felt- the exhilaration of the kill, the joy he got from listening to their screams. It was like music to his ears, and in the vision, to my ears as well. I could taste the blood! That's how real it was._

_Then everything changed again, and that's when it really got weird, and I wasn't sure if I was still in the vision, or if I'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. Because suddenly I was in ancient Greece. With the huge columns, and the togas and the whole nine yards. Even my hair was all done up like they supposedly wore it back then. I'm not even sure how I knew it was Greece, because at that time I didn't know a thing about the Greeks, ancient or otherwise. It definitely wasn't part of my mother's curriculum. But somehow I __did__ know. And I was at the Parthenon. Of course, I didn't know what it was called then. I didn't find that out till later. But I was there. And there were all of these people out front standing around like they were waiting for something. And as I got closer, I started to recognize some of them. My mother was there. And Hannah, and Michael too, and I realized they were all victims of Angelus. Hannah was just as I remembered her and she said to me, "He's here. He's been waiting for you." And can you say, 'Creepy'? Anyway, then she points inside the Parthenon, and I go in there, and there's Angelus lying there on this stone slab thing, like a corpse or something, which y'know I guess technically he is. And I walk up to him, and just as I get within reach, he suddenly sits up and says, "Finally" or something to that effect, and he grabs me. He's just about to rip my throat out, I think, and then I wake up on the floor of my room screaming my bloody head off. It seemed like hours had passed, but it must have only been a few minutes cuz the candles hadn't even burned down very far._

Whether it was a true vision, or simply an ordinary dream, Katie took it as a sign that she would find Angelus in Greece. Before beginning her journey to the birthplace of civilization, however, some research was required. She spent the rest of the night poring over the files she had brought with her from London, absorbing everything she could about Angelus and his habits. She was surprised to find how much of the information was new to her. For example, while she was aware that Angelus preferred five-star hotels over two-bit flophouses, she hadn't realized it made a difference which floor he stayed on. According to numerous Council operatives who had been fortunate enough to have captured and interrogated some of Angelus' traveling companions, his sire and paramour, Darla insisted upon always having a room with a view. Hence, Angelus always saw to it that they had a suite on the topmost floor of any rooming establishment, and that the suite had a window overlooking the city. This information would be especially useful to Katie in locating her estranged father.

Equally important and previously unknown to Katie, was the fact that Angelus and Darla were devoted patrons of the arts. Council operatives had observed the pair in attendance at a variety of performances and exhibitions in numerous locales across Europe. Reports had documented the couple enjoying the opera, as well as Shakespeare. They had been sighted at the ballet, and at the symphony. Museums and art galleries had also been known to tickle their fancies on occasion. Wherever debutantes and aristocrats were known to frequent, Angelus and Darla were seen cavorting among them.

This new information meant that if Katie wanted to find Angelus before he found her, she would have to rub elbows with the upper crust of society. She would have to attend the shows, visit the galleries, stay in the ritzy hotels (top floor, please), and eat at the fancy restaurants. To do that, she would have to dress the part, so first thing in the morning she went to town and purchased some attire befitting a lady of high society. She also managed to procure a horse, for it would seem odd for woman of such high standing as she now appeared, to be merely walking about the countryside. Of course it might also be considered questionable for her to riding her own horse rather than be driven in a hired carriage, but she couldn't be bothered with such details. The risk was too high to take responsibility for another human being, and her supply of cash was not unlimited; it would eventually run out. She wanted to find Angelus before that happened, which meant she couldn't be wasting money on carriages, and walking was absolutely out of the question.

Under her new plan of attack, she could no longer travel undercover. She would have to be in plain view of anyone who happened to look her way, including Angelus and Darla. The possibility remained that one or both of them would find her first. Katie felt confident she would be able to hold her own, and perhaps prevail against either of them individually, but together they were a force to be reckoned with. As a child, she had been taught to behave as prey. As a member of Holtz's team, she had become a predator. Her new mission meant she would become both, and would have to behave accordingly, or she would surely perish. Though she was certain she would catch up with Angelus in Greece, Katie knew it was equally possible she would run into him along the way. It was likely, in fact, that she would be traveling along the same route he had taken upon leaving Rome himself, so while she discarded her previous rules for survival, she continued to do her traveling only by day. At night she would patrol the cities she stopped in for signs of Angelus and his consort, visiting the establishments they were likely to patronize, and would only allow herself the luxury of sleep when she was thoroughly assured of their absence.

**Final Curtain**

Keeping to her strategy of traveling by day, and patrolling the cities at night, Katie tracked Angelus and Darla throughout southern Italy and across the Ionian Sea into Greece. Along the way, she continued to hunt the lesser vampires and was able to discover through the fine art of interrogation that the deadly duo were indeed headed towards Athens. She reached the historical city in August 1771, and the moment her feet touched the Athenian soil, she knew her father was there. She felt it like a current of electricity flowing through her veins, as if her blood were screaming at her in triumph. She continued mingling with society's elite, passing herself off as one of them, attending the shows and so on, and on August 15th, her persistence paid off.

While standing in line for a production of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream", a gentleman approached her, and was quite insistent upon accompanying her inside the theatre. She dealt with him swiftly and effectively, but the skirmish drew the attention of two other attendees to the performance. Angelus and Darla approached her following the altercation, posing as concerned citizens. Katie describes her first and last meeting with her father and the woman she tends to think of as her stepmother.

_They said they wanted to congratulate me on putting away that creep. For all I know he was plant of theirs to provoke me into exposing myself. In any case, they now had a reason to approach me in a public forum, where I wouldn't be able to move on them without making a scene. Of course, the same held true for them. They didn't want the attention of that many spectators, either. Any number of them could have been vampire hunters like Holtz or myself, and even if they weren't, they still had the numbers. But for all I knew, they could also have been vampires like Angelus and Darla. The point is, I was caught. They weren't gonna leave, and I couldn't leave. I was safer in the crowd. If I left, I'm sure they would've followed, and I would've had to face both of them alone. I knew I didn't have a chance against the two of them at once. I had no choice but to stay and pretend everything was hunky dory._

_I don't know if they knew who I was at first, or if they were just playing the same game they played with all their victims. My heart was racing, though, so I'm sure they realized that I knew who or at least what they were. They asked where I was from and if it was my first time in Greece. I told them I was from France, and yes it was my first time. No point in lying about that. Darla asked if I was a fan of Shakespeare, and I confessed I'd never been to one of his shows, but that my father supposedly never missed a performance. Yeah, I was dropping subtle hints. I don't know maybe I had a death wish, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to see his reaction, but there wasn't one. At least not a first. Darla questioned how it was that I didn't know whether my father really was a fan- she did most of the talking- and I told her I had never actually met the man, and only knew what my mother had told me. Angelus opened his mouth then and asked how that was possible. Was my mother a whore or something? He was baiting me, I knew. [shrugs] I took it. In a way, I was baiting him too. I said, "My mother was a good woman. My father left her for another woman after she got pregnant." I threw a pointed glance at Darla, then back at Angelus. Again Darla picked up the conversation and questioned my use of the past tense. I explained that she had been killed nearly four years ago. It was our turn to enter the theatre, then, so I paid my admission, then looked back at Angelus and said, "By my father.", then went in to take my seat, knowing that there was nothing he could do until we left the playhouse._

_I was wrong. There was no assigned seating, so everyone just sat wherever they wanted. I sat towards the middle so I would be surrounded by people, safety in numbers and all that. In hindsight maybe I should have sat closer to the front. Y'know, full view of the actors, easy escape route. But then if I had, I wouldn't be sitting here today. Can't have it both ways, right? Anyway, I sat down and Angelus and Darla took seats on either side of me. By then, I think we'd all dropped any pretense of social niceties. So I kept my eyes straight ahead, and in a nice even tone, I said to them, "if either of you so much as lays a finger on me, I'll scream." So he says in that smarmy way of his, y'know that cocky tone he uses? [I indicated that I did] He goes, "In front of all these people? You'll cause a panic. People could get hurt." There were a few kids in the audience; I think maybe I heard a baby cry. It was a long time ago, though, so I could be talkin' out my ass on that one. But I do know there were kids. Darla made it a point of pointing them out to me. Like maybe they were gonna hurt the kids if I made a fuss. What could I do? I couldn't let them hurt those kids. Well, I'm sure they did anyway, y'know, but I couldn't be the cause of it. How would I live with myself? [shrugs] So, I kept my mouth shut, and we enjoyed the play. Lights went down after the final act, and when they came back up, I was in the Parthenon with a hankering for V8. If you know what I mean._


	6. Elizabeth and Mary Cooper

**Chapter Five**

**Elizabeth and Mary Cooper 1771-1786**

**The Early Years**

As per the stipulations dictated in the adoption papers, Elizabeth and Mary Cooper were raised knowing full well that the Penn's were not their biological family. That is not to say they were loved any less than their adoptive siblings, but no pretenses were made as to their true origins. George and Martha's two older children, Rachel, the eldest, and Christopher treated the twins with the same love normally shared between siblings, and with the respect shown for close friends. It could have been argued that Mary and Elizabeth and the Penn children were even closer than most siblings.

In June 1776, Rachel was married in the family's church to the son of the Reverend, and moved out. In April 1777, George and Martha were surprised with a second son, Nicholas. With Rachel gone, it fell to Mary and Elizabeth to help with the household chores while Martha took care of her infant son. While researching their story for this book in the family diary, I was distressed by the notion of so much responsibility being thrust upon children at such an early age, so I phoned my eighth great-grandmother, Elizabeth and asked her to elaborate.

_It wasn't like that at all. The Penn's were good parents. A little strict at times sure, and ultra-religious- Hello? Puritans!- but they never gave us more than we could handle. Light cleaning, no real cooking. We just chopped a few vegetables- supervised of course- washed some potatoes. It's not like they had us out there plowin' the field for goodness sake. We didn't even have a field. We were barely outside the city. We had a lawn. But they certainly didn't make us girls go out and cut it. We just threw little Nicky out there and let him go nuts. Good for the digestion, you know. [guffaws at her own joke] Sorry, couldn't resist. Like I said, the Penn's were good people… I'm going to Hell for that, aren't I?_

As the girls grew older, they took on additional responsibilities around the house, splitting the duties equally between them. Mary did most of the cooking and cleaning for the family, while Elizabeth helped tend to young Nicholas. Elizabeth loved children and couldn't wait to have several of her own. Christopher, who was two years their senior, seemed to feel the same way and often helped Elizabeth look after their brother. It was becoming readily apparent that something was developing between Elizabeth and Christopher that went beyond a sibling relationship, or mere friendship. Again, I must emphasize that all members of the family knew there was no biological relationship between the twins and Penn family. The children had always behaved toward each other as friends, more than siblings. There was nothing sinful or otherwise taboo about the relationship between Elizabeth and Christopher. They merely grew closer as childhood friends often do, when they spend a great deal of time together. As Mary explains, during that same phone call:

_Think Anne Frank and Peter Van Dam in the secret annex, without the being locked up, or Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper from "The Wonder Years" if they had lived together. Not Greg and Marsha Brady in the movie… Ew._

As promised, the Council checked in on occasion to confirm that the Penn's were honoring their part of the agreement. Naturally, it was understood that these periodic visitors represented the adoption agency. The twins were never told anything about the Council or the things they dealt with. Who could have told them? The Penn's didn't know, and the Council never met with Mary and Elizabeth in the absence of the family. The strict code of secrecy under which they operated forbade them discussing the supernatural in front of civilians, which in this case meant the Penn's. Though it was against Katie's wishes, Mary and Elizabeth remained oblivious to such otherworldly matters until their thirteenth birthday.

**Happy Birthday**

In the pre-dawn hours of their thirteenth birthday, June 12, 1784, Mary and Elizabeth woke up bathed in sweat and terrified from a sleep filled with horrendous nightmares. As the last remnants of sleep left them, and they once again became aware of the real world around them, each was surprised to find her sister in a similar state of panic on the other side of their shared bedroom. They began to describe their dreams to each other, and quickly discovered that they had shared the same dream. Mary recalls their early morning conversation.

_Well, the dream's kind of hard to remember. It was so long ago. And you know how dreams are. They get all mixed up, don't make much sense. But I remember I was being chased by this man. I know now that it was Angelus, but of course then, I had no clue. I just knew that it was a man who wasn't really a man. I started to describe him to Lizzie, but before I could finish, she was describing him to me. And it was the same with the rest of the dream. I'd start to explain something from the dream, and she'd pick up right where I left off, and vice verse. We realized that we really had had the same dream. Then she gets up and lights the oil lamp on our desk, and grabs a piece a paper and a quill and starts to draw him. Another thing that runs in the family. Eidetic memory and the ability to draw. So she sits down and makes a perfect sketch of the man- the demon- in my dream. Complete with the wrinkly forehead, and the fangs, the whole kit and caboodle. That's when I knew for sure she'd had the exact same dream I had, and wasn't just making it all up for some reason. We tried to figure out what it meant, and I wanted to go to our parents, but Lizzie said no way. They'd think we were possessed or something. I mean we are talking hard core Christians here. We ended up staying up the rest of the night praying for guidance._

Their prayers were answered the following morning when Martha Penn came to their room to wake them, and announced that Mr. Dupree would be paying them a visit with a special gift for their birthday. The twins hated Mr. Dupree. They found him to be pompous and arrogant, an insufferable intrusion on their otherwise unencumbered lives, bringing with him the constant threat of the twins' removal from the only home they'd ever known. Though they were raised to be obedient and respectful of their elders, particularly their parents, every visit from Mr. Dupree sparked an argument between Mary and Elizabeth, and their adoptive parents. This occasion was no different.

_Well, I wouldn't call it an argument, __says Mary__, more like a heated discussion. I just wanted to know why we had to put up with this jackass all the time. Especially on our birthday of all days. She said it was because our [birth] mother wanted to be sure we were being raised properly. I felt like such an ass afterwards, but I said something like, "Then why didn't she raise us herself?" And my mom got this hurt look on her face, and said, "Mary, sweetheart, she's dead." Of course, I knew that. They had told us years before when they first sat us down and told us we were adopted. But hearing it out loud again like that just knocked the wind out of me. Really put me in my place. I was just being a typical whiny teenager, but boy did I feel like shit._

Having been thoroughly chastised, Mary accepted the inevitable visit from Mr. Dupree and chose to focus instead on the "special gift" he was supposed to be bringing them. Martha Penn admitted that she didn't know what it was, only that it had supposedly belonged to their birth mother. This lifted the twins' spirits somewhat, and for the first time, they eagerly anticipated Mr. Dupree's arrival. He arrived at the Penn home around mid-day, just as the family was sitting down for lunch. To the twins' disappointment, he was empty-handed. Adding insult to injury, Mr. Dupree requested the girls be allowed to accompany him to the city, alone and without parental supervision, that he might visit with them privately. They were further horrified to have that permission granted, without question. Recalls Elizabeth:

_We thought for sure our parents had committed some grievous act we didn't know about, some violation of the agreement they had made with our birth mother. That Mr. Dupree had come to take us away permanently. Of course we went quietly- it was how we were raised- but when we rode away in Mr. Dupree's carriage, we felt like our whole world was crumbling. We were sure it was the last time we were ever going to see that house, or our family._

_That wasn't the case, of course, as I'm sure you know. He ended up taking us to lunch in some fancy restaurant. I can't remember the name. It isn't there anymore. I think it ended up being one of those new wave clubs- the ones I can't stand with the techno music and the strobe lights. Anyway, he sits us down and he hands us this book from across the table. Sort of half diary, half scrapbook. You know it as the family diary. To us it was just this huge dusty thing with a bunch of papers stuffed in it all willy-nilly. He explained to us that it had belonged to our mother, and her mother before. You know the drill. Then he started telling us about demons and vampires and the like, and how our grandfather was one, and that he had killed our mother, and our father, and our aunt, and our grandmother, and so on down the line. And that our mother's fear was that one day he would come for us too, and she wanted us to be prepared. "Happy Birthday, girls! You're gonna die!"_

_Well, naturally, we didn't believe it at first. Who would? It was crazy talk! But he said, "Look, it's all right here." And he started pulling out articles from The Book, and showing us sketches of Angelus and Darla. Then we started to believe, because of the dream we'd both had the night before, and we confided in Mr. Dupree for the first time ever, and told him about the dream. He didn't seem the least bit shocked or surprised, which shocked and surprised both of us. Then he told us that our mother used to have visions and prophetic dreams and such, and so had our aunt and our grandmother, and that we should listen to them because they could be warnings that could save our lives one day. [scoffs] So much for that idea._

**Waiting to Die**

Mary and Elizabeth excused themselves to their room directly upon returning home, feigning exhaustion. It wasn't far from the truth. They were mentally exhausted. Though they felt reassured that they weren't being uprooted from their home, and relieved after sharing their nightmare with Mr. Dupree, the meeting left them feeling somewhat dispirited. On the one hand, it gave them comfort knowing that their dream had meant something, and that they weren't the first in their family to have had such dreams. On the other hand, the implications of those dreams, and the newfound knowledge of their heritage was disconcerting at best. Fully grown adults would have had a difficult time processing such an abundance of the sort of information that had been thrust upon the twins, but for two girls barely entering their teens, it was overwhelming. They wanted nothing more than to sit down with their parents, tell them everything, and then be held and told that it was all going to be okay. Mr. Dupree had made it clear, however, that going to the Penn's with this was not an option. As Elizabeth had previously pointed out, chances were good that no one would believe them, and even if they did, Mr. Dupree told them it would only put the family in danger.

Unable to seek solace from their loved ones, Mary and Elizabeth sought comfort in the family diary that had been passed down from their birth mother. Secreted away in their room, they spent the remainder of the day soaking up all they could about their biological family, and Angelus in particular. They strived to learn everything their ancestors had written about him, his habits, what he was capable of and how they might protect themselves from him, and others like him. They were also curious about the prospect of visions and prophetic dreams. How would they know if what they saw was real, or merely product of their imagination? Would they know how much time they had until the vision or dream came true? Would they recognize it if and when it did come true? They would spend the next two and a half years pondering these questions, and receiving few answers.

Each of the twins dealt with this uncertainty in their own way. Mary immersed herself in the family diary, poring through the articles crammed between the pages, and studying the writings of her mother and grandmother intent on finding some clue she might have missed that would aid her in her inevitable confrontation with her grandfather. Perhaps her ancestors had made some fatal mistake that had led to their demise. If she could discover that mistake, she might be able to avoid making the same error when her time came. The flaw in her logic of course, was that since her foremothers had died, they had been unable to write the details of their destruction. Mary's problem was similar to that faced by Slayers trying to determine what had caused the downfall of their predecessors. There simply was not enough information. When she wasn't obsessively studying the family diary, she sought her answers from God. She turned to prayer and meditation, hoping that divine providence would show her the way, perhaps in the form of a dream or vision of the type that was supposed to run her family. While she continued to dream of Angelus on an almost nightly basis, none of the dreams gave her any indication of how she might defeat him, and most ended with her own untimely demise.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, turned to Christopher. While she was unable to confide in him what was troubling her, she still found comfort in his arms. Over the coming months the two teenagers became more involved, and were married June 21, 1785, just after the twins' fourteenth birthday. The wedding was simple, with just a few close friends and family members in attendance. Rachel and Mary were bride's maids, with Nicholas and Rachel's husband Philip standing as groom's men. To accommodate the newlywed couple, Christopher moved into the room the twins had previously shared, and Mary moved into Christopher's room, which had been previously occupied by the eldest Penn child, Rachel. On May 3, 1786 Elizabeth gave birth to twin girls, Brigid and Cara, and a family dinner was planned in celebration after Elizabeth recovered from her intense labor.

Days before the scheduled event, Mary and Elizabeth were once again awakened in the night by intense nightmares. Each left their respective rooms in search of her sister, meeting in the family room to compare horror stories. In the following passages, each describes her recollection of those dreams.

_**Elizabeth's Dream**_

_My dreams were never very clear. I guess that's why I didn't obsess over them, like Mary did. They were very confusing. Disjointed. They always seemed to be more metaphoric, than clear prophecies. In that last dream, I remember I was running through the house, trying to get away from something. The whole family was dead. I never saw them. I just knew they were dead. I ran into the room that used to be mine and Mary's and tried to climb out the window, but he caught me- Angelus, I mean- in full vamp face. I screamed, and just as he's about to bite me, I wake up. In the dream, I wake up. You ever have one of those? And I'm back in bed with Christopher. He puts his arms around me and acts like he's going to comfort me, but then suddenly he's a vampire, and he kills me. I woke up for real that time, and had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. The dream felt so real, I had to check myself for bite marks just to make sure that it wasn't. Then I scrambled out of bed as fast as I could to go find Mary. And to get away from Christopher. You know, just in case._

_**Mary's Dream**_

_I was outside looking in the window of my sister's room. I saw her run in and try to slam the door and keep out whoever, or whatever was on the other side, but they were too strong. I tried to scream at her to come to the window before it was too late, but I couldn't find my voice. I was waving at her frantically, but it was like she didn't even know I was there, like I was invisible or something. The door slammed open, knocking her down, and I watched this shadowy figure come into the room. I couldn't see his face or anything and I thought it was Angelus. I tried to get in the window and help her, but it wouldn't budge. There was nothing I could do. So I turned around to run, but Angelus was already behind me. He grabbed me by the shoulders with this sadistic grin on his face- his human face- and he says something like, "Leaving so soon? Don't you wanna see how it ends?" Then he spins me around, and I see that it's Chris in the room, not Angelus, like I thought. And he makes me watch while Chris drains my sister's blood, and again I try to scream, "No!" But I can't because Angelus has got me in a vice grip and I can't breathe. He bites me from behind and I lose consciousness just as Lizzie falls to the floor, dead._

**The Last Supper**

The following evening, the night before the big dinner, Christopher went out with some friends. According to Elizabeth he had told his parents he would helping out one of the parishioners from their church, but then went to a bar instead. "I begged him not to go," she told me. "Something in the pit of my stomach just told me it was a bad idea. But I guess every guy's gotta spend some time with the boys now then." Christopher never came home that night. The family spent the entire next day searching for him, but to no avail. No one from the church had seen or heard from him since the last service, and they found no sign of him anywhere in town. When the family returned to the house and broke the news to Elizabeth that Christopher was nowhere to be found, she suggested postponing the celebratory feast until he could be located, but George and Martha wouldn't hear of it. Elizabeth explains:

_The whole family had been looking for forward to it. It was so rare in those days to get everyone together for dinner, what with Rachel being married and out of the house and all. We almost never say them anymore, except at church. Her and Philip were supposed to be coming with their new baby. Even Nicky was looking forward to it. And Dad and Chris had kinda been on the outs for a little while. He didn't think Chris was doing enough in the way of 'husbandly duties', whatever that meant, and this latest with him lying about helping out the Stevens' was just one more straw on the camel's back. He said, "If I let that inconsiderate devil spawn of a son of mine ruin our special evening, it's going to over my dead body." Hearing him say those words just made my blood run cold, and I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. The wind went right out of me. It must have shown on my face, because he apologized right after he said it… for calling my husband a devil spawn, not for the 'dead' crack._

The family sat down to dinner that night as planned, though Rachel had also failed to appear. They assumed Rachel and Philip had merely been delayed due to their six-month-old son, and would be along shortly. They had no idea that by then Rachel was already dead, the apparent victim of an animal attack. Mary recalls the evening.

_When we heard the knock at the door, everyone just naturally assumed it was Rachel. Except me and Lizzie. We were still on edge because of our dreams, plus Chris turning up missing. I whispered to Lizzie, "Why would she knock?" I could tell by her face that she was thinking the same thing I was, that the knock was really Death finally coming to call. We sat up in our chairs and steeled ourselves for a quick getaway. We didn't take off right away, in case we were wrong. We hoped we were wrong. And we didn't want to alarm the family. We should've alarmed them. But as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty. So our mom gets up to answer the door, and that's when we decided to Hell with alarming the family. Cuz when she opens it she says, "Christopher! Where have you been? We've been worried sick! And who' this, then?" that's when I started pulling on Lizzie's shoulder, "Come on, we gotta go. Now! Let's go!" I could see Angelus standing there just behind Chris. He was in the shadows, but I could see just enough of him to know it was him. Well, that and the cold chills running down my neck telling me to get the Hell outta there._

_I was out of my chair while she was still giving Chris the third degree. Lizzie was starting to get up too, and I was pulling on her to get her to move faster, and she fell backwards taking the chair down with her. I helped her up, and by the time Mom invited them both in, I was already half-pulling, half-dragging Lizzie to the bedroom. She tried to turn back and stop her from letting them in, but it was too late and I knew it. I yanked hard on her arm to keep her moving and we made it to the bedroom, before the rest of the family even knew what was happening. Dad was still yelling at Chris for staying gone so long, worrying everyone._

_We got to the bedroom and Lizzie finally started to wise up. She slammed the door, and grabbed the chair from our writing desk to block the door. I thought she was wasting time, but it ended up buying us precious seconds. That's when the screaming started. Not just from the front room where all the action was, but Brigid and Cara had woken up too, and they were screaming bloody murder. I tried to ignore the screaming outside. I told myself there was nothing we could do for them, they were as good as dead already. As long as they were still screaming, they were still alive, and that meant there was still time before Chris and Angelus got to us. It was the girls I was worried about. I was afraid their crying was gonna bring them to us before we could get away._

_After my dream the other night, I wanted to be prepared in case it came true, so I packed a bag ahead of time and stowed it in Lizzie's room when she wasn't looking. Mostly baby stuff and the diary, a couple changes of clothes for Liz and me. She didn't know, so she just starts grabbin' things all willy-nilly and I'm trying to get the damn window open. I'm like, "What the Hell are you doing? We gotta go!" and I show her the bag and tell her to help me with the window. We get it open and I start to climb out and I tell her, "Get the girls! Give 'em to me!" and she does and I just get a hold of Brigid- or was it Cara?- And then we realized how quiet it suddenly was. Even the girls had stopped crying for a second. And we can hear footsteps coming down the hall, and I tell her to hurry up and come out the window, so we can get out of there, and then the door starts rattling like someone was trying to open it. And instead of jumping out the window, she runs back to the door and tries to hold it closed, and she tells me, "Go on without me. One of us has to get out of here. For the children." If I waited for her, we'd all be dead, so I told her I loved her, then turned and ran as fast as I could._

**Lizzie's Last Stand**

After saying goodbye to her sister for the last time, Elizabeth continued to hold the door closed, trying to buy Mary enough time to escape with the children. She knew if she stayed there, it was only a matter of time before she met some horrible fate at the hands of Angelus and her late husband. If she let go and tried for the window, they would be on her in a second. She'd never reach the window, and the attempt would be a death sentence to Mary, Brigid and Cara. A part of her just wanted to give up, turn herself in, and end the nightmare as soon as possible, but if she wanted to save what was left of her family, she had to delay the inevitable as long as she could, long enough for Mary and the twins to find safety.

Elizabeth waited until she could no long see her sister's shadow through the bedroom window, before finally backing away from the door. Christopher burst into the room wearing his human face, and acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if he and his sire hadn't just slaughtered the whole family. Remembers Elizabeth:

_He comes swaggering in like he's God's gift with this phony, patronizing grin plastered on his face, and he says, "Elizabeth, what's gotten into you?" like I was the crazy one. Then he's like, "My God, you're shaking like a leaf!" And I was. Who wouldn't be, right? So I go, "You're not human!" and he gets this look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he says, "Oh, you noticed that, did you? Well, not to worry. In a moment, you won't be either." Then Angelus comes in and he goes, "Penn, don't be rude. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your lady friend?" They were real good at making believe everything was hunky-dory, you know? I mean here they were, getting ready to kill me, and they're playing it off like Chris had just brought a friend home for dinner like it was no big deal [laughs hysterically]. Sorry. That just struck me funny for a minute [giggles]. So Chris makes the introductions, and I play along. I'm like, "How do you do?" And Angelus starts laughing and he goes, "Very well, thanks." And you know, looking back, with my new perspective and all [meaning as a vampire herself], it was kinda funny. Then he said, "Let's have a look at you then" and he motioned for me to come closer to him. What could I do? I didn't know if Mary had gotten far enough away. I had to keep them busy as long as possible, so they couldn't look for her. So I went to him. My heart must have been pumping like a mile a minute. I was terrified. And he said something like, "Don't be afraid. I'm not gonna hurt you… yet." You know that way he's got? Then he grabs me under the chin, and starts stroking my hair, and I think he recognized something in me. He started looking at me like a dog checking out his own reflection. You know what I mean? And then Chris pipes up and goes, "Hey, that's mine!" or some shit. And Angelus is all, "Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?" then Chris has to open his big mouth and goes, "Elizabeth, where are the children?" I play dumb and go, "Children?" like I didn't know what he was talking about. So he gets all mad and says, "Our children, Elizabeth! Where are they?" And I'm like, "Oh. They must have gone out." Then Chris says, "They're nine days old! Are you telling me they just walked out?"_

_At this point, Angelus started to get real interested, like the idea of children was exciting to him somehow- in a predatory way, not in a gross way- and even through that entire exchange he never took his eyes off me. It was so weird. And he says, "Oh, you have children?" and Chris is like "Oh yes. Twin girls." And I'm thinking, 'Shut up, Asshole!' but he just keeps going on, throwing more fuel on the fire and he asks, "Did Mary take them?" And now I can see a light going on in Angelus' eyes, like he was finally putting two and two together. He says, "Mary?" And Chris is just ever so helpful. He's so eager to please, it's sickening. He says, "Her twin sister." God I wanted to kill him. Chris, I mean. It's like he knew exactly the wrong thing to say. So Angelus starts thinking out loud, you know, and he's like, "A twin sister, with twins. Interesting." He still had a hold of me that whole time, you know, and like I said, he never looked away. Not once. But he did then. He puts his one hand around the back of my head, and he's still holding my chin with his other hand, and he grabs my throat right underneath like, so he's basically holding me by my head and he says to Chris, "Well, then. I guess you'd better go find them. They can't have gone far." Of course, Chris puts up a big ol' fuss then, like 'Why do I have to go? Waaa.' Like a little baby. But Angelus is firm with him. He don't put up with no bullshit, as I'm sure you know. Anyway after Chris leaves, Angelus and I sit down and have a little chat, and after a round of Twenty Questions, I finally end up telling him about my mother- my real mother- and he figures out that I'm his granddaughter. It was basically all over, then. He was just killin' time by that point [another round of hysterics]. Get it? 'Killing Time'?_

Once she had recovered some of her composure and started to sound less like an escapee from a lunatic asylum, Elizabeth went on to describe her one-on-one conversation with Angelus.

_He started asking me about my life, how I grew up and all, like he was so interested, you know? But he was so convincing. I mean, I knew better, and I was still taken in by him. Well, I guess he didn't get where he is by being transparent. He would've been dust long before I met him if he was. But he's good at what he does. And for a moment, I forgot who I was talking to. Like I wasn't staring into the face of a killer, but was having a genuine family reunion with my extremely well preserved grandfather. You know, just a friendly little chat._

_So then he asked if I though Chris was likely to find Mary and the twins. I told him I didn't know, but didn't see how Mary could have gone very far carrying two newborns and a heavy satchel, barring some kind of miracle. So then he made me a proposition. He told me that if Chris came back with Mary and the girls, he would let them go, unharmed, and all I had to do was join him and learn the ways of the Dark Side, and together we would RULE THE GALAXY FOREVER! MUAHA-HA-HA! [heavy sarcasm] I knew he was probably full of shit, but he really sounded sincere. And I wanted to believe him. And if there was even a chance that he was telling the truth, that he would spare Mary and the twins, then I had to take it._

No one knew at the time, but as I'll discuss in the next chapter, Mary was already well out of range by the time that deal was made, so neither Mary nor Elizabeth was able to tell me if Angelus would've upheld his end of the bargain. My experience suggests the answer is no, but in the interest of fairness, I thought it would be appropriate to obtain the answer from the only one who knows for sure. In February 2003 when Angelus returned for the second time, I seized my opportunity. As he was locked in a reinforced steel cage, and had nothing better to do with his time, he was more than happy to oblige. Though I've refrained from editorial comments thus far, I found it necessary to include them in this case to give a more accurate depiction of the conversation. Such comments are displayed in brackets.

_**Come on, Row. Have you ever known me to break a promise? [Yes] What? Are you calling me a liar? [Yes] Rowynne, I'm hurt [he's not]. I thought you knew me better than that. [I do] Don't you think if I was gonna go through all that trouble, I would've at least waited? Made her watch? Ooh or better yet, made Mary watch while I did Liz [double entendre definitely intended], then made Liz do Mary while I watched. [he lets his hands wander a bit, trying to get my goat, thankfully stopping above the belt] Ooooh [feigns shivering] Just thinking about it makes me feel all… tingly. Gets the old… [pointed glance south of the equator] heart pumpin'. Know what I mean?**_

At this point the 'conversation' degenerates to a level inappropriate for human (or even vampire) consumption, and I had to excuse myself. Pig-headed though he may be, however, Angelus' logic cannot be denied. According to Elizabeth, Angelus was long gone when she regained consciousness. Angelus is a bastard and no argument can be made against that fact, but nothing he does is ever without reason, however twisted that reason may be. I have no choice therefore, but to believe him when he says he intended to abide by the agreement he made with Elizabeth. How could he have broken it, if he didn't stay behind long enough to fulfill it?


	7. Mary Cooper

**Chapter Six**

**Mary Cooper 1771-1789**

I find Mary's story to be one of the most fascinating of my ancestors' encounters with Angelus. As I'll explain in depth later in this chapter, she was the first in our family to have any prolonged experiences with Angelus, that didn't involve hours of excruciating torture. I felt that a tale as unique as Mary's would be best served if it was told in person, so I invited Mary to Sunnydale, where I was making my home at the time, to tell her story in person. As Angelus was still at large in Sunnydale at that time, she was reluctant to make the trip, but she was eager to have her story told. She finally agreed on the condition that we meet in a place where Angelus couldn't go. That meant that a public forum was out of the question. It also cancelled out my own home, as it was currently serving as a hostile for Angelus, Drusilla and Spike, after Giles had burned down the factory. Though he was completely vindicated in his actions, Giles felt partially responsible for my current living arrangements, and as he had already met most of my family at a gathering the previous year, he agreed to allow Mary and I to have our conversation at his home. The following excerpts took place there.

**The Missing Piece**

After escaping her childhood home, Mary, overburdened with her precious cargo and a satchel full of necessities, managed to flee only a short distance down the road before being intercepted by a carriage headed in the opposite direction. Given the circumstances which led to her flight, she was hesitant to approach the vehicle, fearful that the occupants might be in league with Angelus and her late brother-in-law. When the door swung open, however, she was relieved to see the face of Mr. Charles Dupree. The man she once viewed as a thorn in her side, an insufferable interloper, was now her only salvation in a world torn asunder. She gratefully climbed into the passenger compartment with her infant nieces, demanding that the driver carry them out of that place as fast as the horses could run.

Once inside the safety of the carriage, when Mary felt they had achieved a safe distance from the cottage, she explained to Mr. Dupree and the two men in his company what had transpired at the Penn home. Mr. Dupree responded by providing the last bit of information he had previously denied Mary and her sister. He confessed that he was in fact not a social worker, but an operative for the Watchers' Council, and went on to explain everything that entailed. Though Mary's mother Katie had written extensively of the Council, and of Mr. Dupree in her journals, and Mary herself had studied those writings until she knew them forward and backward, hearing the tale aloud somehow gave it more credence.

What Katie had failed to mention was that the Council had offered her refuge at the headquarters as long as she liked, and would have trained her in the same manner they had been training Slayers for centuries. Katie had refused the training, insisting that Holtz had given her all the training she needed, and that any additional time spent with the Council would be wasted time that could be spent hunting Angelus. Had she remained, she may have been better equipped to face Angelus and Darla, and Mary and Elizabeth would not be in their current predicament. This was the missing piece in the puzzle Mary had been searching for, the fatal flaw. While a part of Mary was angry with her mother for making such a grievous error, she was determined not to make the same mistake herself.

**Learning to Live**

Unlike her mother, Mary did not feel the need to rush off in search of Angelus. She knew where he was at the moment, and due to Katie's detailed descriptions of her visions regarding Angelus' previous crimes against humanity, she had a good idea of what he was doing there. Though the thought of abandoning her sister pained Mary greatly, she knew that by going back, even with Mr. Dupree and his companions aiding her, she would only be endangering herself and the lives of her nieces. Elizabeth had sacrificed herself to save them, and Mary was determined not to let that sacrifice be in vain. She would not repeat her mother's mistake of going into battle under-prepared. Angelus had found her once, likely by mere chance. Whether they sought each other out or not, Mary had no doubt their paths would cross again. In the meantime, she would accept the offer her mother had so stubbornly declined.

Mr. Dupree explained that the current Slayer, Marie-Christine Du Lac, who was no older than Mary herself, was serving under the French Monarchy at the Palais de Versailles. It was decided that Mary's interests would be best served there, receiving her training alongside the Slayer, under the tutelage of her Watcher, Edmund de Voison, within the security of the Palace walls. This all depended of course upon receiving approval first from the Council, and then from the French Monarchy. Gaining such approval from the Watcher's Council was simply a matter of going to the Council Headquarters and presenting their case in person. Once the Council Director, who at that time was David William Washburn (according to the prominently displayed plaque on his desk), heard Mary's tale and was able to reconcile it with the file they had on her mother, her wholeheartedly agreed that Mary should be trained as if she were a Slayer. Obtaining the same enthusiastic approval from the French Monarchy was another matter entirely. Communication was quite slow in those days, and bureaucracy was even slower, so it would take some time to receive a response once their request had been sent.

In the interim, Mary would begin her training academically. She was first instructed to thoroughly familiarize herself with the extensive files the Council had been compiling on Angelus, and was tested on them until she knew them all by heart. After she successfully completed Angelus 101, she was given a course on vampires in general, as well as other demons. She learned how to recognize any demon (vampire included) on sight, which weapons were most effective on which demons, and what, if any, special abilities each species had that gave them an edge in battle. She was also taught what she could do to protect herself from each species in addition to straight combat, such as wearing protective armor or repellent herbs and amulets.

In addition to the brief weapons overview she was given as part of her demon studies, she was also given a more comprehensive weapons seminar. She learned the names, history and proper uses for all manner of artillery. This did not merely include which weapons were best suited for particular demons, but also which situations would be best served by a particular weapon. For example, in some circumstances it would be better to use a stake or a dagger. In others a sword might be more suitable. In still others, an axe might be more appropriate.

Her final course of study involved working with the Council seers, learning to control her visions, to use them when she need them, rather than wait around for a last minute warning. The Council felt that above combat skills, or knowledge in demonology or anything else, developing her innate ability to predict the future would be Mary's best defense against anything that might do her harm, be it supernatural or mundane. She also studied very closely with a powerful coven of witches in the Council's employ. It was the coven's firm belief that by harnessing the same powers that allowed her to predict the future, Mary could also affect changes in her environment via various forms of psychokinesis. The principle behind this belief was that the seat of all these powers was in the mind. If one could divine future events using only their mind, they should also be able to control present events the same way. The coven felt that if Mary successfully developed these abilities, and learned to use them responsibly, she could be a powerful force for the Greater Good. With the guidance of the seers and the coven, Mary did learn to develop these abilities and by the time her relocation to France was approved in August 1786, she had not only learned to summon visions on command, but was becoming quite adept in the use of telekinesis.

Before the final arrangements could be made for Mary's relocation, a plausible cover story had to be concocted, so it was decided that Mary would be posing as Edmund de Voison's niece, whose family had been murdered by intruders. Mary had barely escaped with her life and her sister's children, they said, and "Uncle" Edmund was the only family she had left. It was mostly true, except for the part about Edmund being her uncle. The Royal Family agreed to take her in, and she was outfitted in attire befitting a noblewoman, before being sent to France. "Uncle" Edmund met her at the harbor in Calais, and on the lengthy carriage ride to Versailles, briefed her on proper Palace etiquette.

_Don't do this, don't do that. Only speak when spoken to. Curtsey and say, "Yes, Your Majesty". Or rather, " Oui, votre majesté", because of course I had to learn French. That barbaric English tongue of mine would not be tolerated in the Palace. And he insisted I call him "Uncle Edmund". All the time. Even when we were alone. He thought I would slip up and blow my cover if I didn't get into the habit right away. Like I was an idiot or something. And I had to go to finishing school. You know, the whole Pygmalion drill.. It was such a pain. While still training with Marie-Christine and keeping up with the lessons I started with the coven. Ugh! Not what I signed up for. I was there to learn how to fight, so I could finally put Angelus out of my misery, not to learn how to be a proper French lady._

Though Mary detested the notion of becoming a "proper French lady", she was determined to do whatever necessary to further her training. So she learned the French. She wore the proper dress, and used the correct fork. She did everything the queen expected of her, and still managed to care for her nieces while practicing combat skills with the Slayer, and magic (for lack of a better term) with Edmund.

Mary was a quick study and excelled at everything Edmund strived to teach her. Within three months of her arrival, her French was flawless. In six months, her swordsmanship was unmatched except by the Slayer, and she could fire a crossbow like no other. She could shoot a fly off a horse from fifty yards away, and never touch the horse.

_If I could see it, I could shoot it. If I could shoot it, I could kill it. Didn't matter if it was a vampire, demon, small animal, human. Whatever. Not that I __ever__ would've killed a person. __Really__. But I could have. If I really wanted to._

Within a year of Mary's arrival, even the Slayer began to have difficulty keeping up, and Mary came close to beating her several times during their sparring sessions. Was Marie-Christine reaching the end of her prime? Was Mary a Potential Slayer? No. Mary was cheating. That is not to say that Mary lacked the skills, or wasn't training hard enough. She could easily defend herself in battle on her own merit, but perhaps she wasn't quite as adept as she portrayed herself. As I mentioned before, Mary was already quite proficient in the art of telekinesis, before leaving London. Edmund continued her training after her arrival in France, in telekinesis as well as her more important psi abilities- clairvoyance and telepathy. With everything else in her tight schedule, the time for formal training in these areas was limited, but while she could only practice her fighting skills with Edmund and the Slayer, and only in secret, she could practice her psi abilities anytime, without anyone knowing. Telepathy is what allowed her to learn French so quickly, and how she was able to rival the Slayer's skills. She used telekinesis to direct her crossbow with pinpoint accuracy. Though Marie-Christine accused Mary of such tactics on multiple occasions, until our conversation for this book, she would only admit to subversive methods when it came to her knack for language, and with ordinary daily activities. Only her diary knew the truth, and it wouldn't fall into Council hands again for over one hundred years.

When Edmund was satisfied that Mary had learned all she could from controlled instruction, she was finally allowed to join Marie-Christine in the field, and accompanied her regularly on her various missions for the next two years, doing her part to protect humanity from the forces of darkness. That is, doing her part to protect aristocratic humanity from the forces of darkness. The Council at that time was horribly corrupt, Edmund included. Marie-Christine was raised to believe that her first duty was to the Council, then to the Monarchy, followed by the remaining French aristocracy. Common citizens did not even fit into the plan. By proxy, Mary's missions also followed those lines, though she heartily disagreed with the policy, being a commoner herself.

**The French Rebellion**

This policy began to change in the autumn of 1789. the poverty stricken citizens of France were growing bitter and angry over the insufferable conditions in which they lived. Marie-Antoinette was spending 2,000,000 livres on flashy jewels, while they had to scavenge for every scrap of bread. The Royals lived in the lap of luxury, with not a care in the world, while the good people of France slept on dirty floors with moth-eaten blankets- if they were lucky. They needed a hero, someone to lead them in a glorious rebellion. They found that hero in a most unlikely source. A vampire calling himself L'hero answered their cries, portraying himself as a Robin Hood of sorts. Unlike Robin Hood, however, L'hero attracted impoverished humans to his ranks with promises of salvation, then turned them into vampires. The fledgling vampires then went out recruit more hopeless citizens to the cause, a pyramid scheme for the undead. This growing rebellion drew the attention and the concern of the Monarchy, and was dispatched to Paris to find and eliminate L'hero. Marie-Christine and Edmund were to travel Paris undercover, posing as commoners, and attempt to infiltrate his band of merry demons, thereby ending the rebellion.

Originally Mary was to join them on the assignment. It would be a good experience for her, and her unique mental abilities could prove quite useful to insuring their success. Brigid and Cara would remain at the Palace with a nanny, as was the custom for these field missions, while Mary went to Paris with her "Uncle" and his charge. The night before they were to begin, however, Mary had one of her fabled visions. Her training allowed her to summon visions at will whenever she needed them, but they still came to her unbidden when something required her immediate attention. Sometimes they came merely as precognitive flashes, but this time it came in the form of a prophetic dream, like the one that had warned her of Angelus' arrival at her home in London. This time, though, she knew what it meant, and had the training to know that it was a genuine warning, and not simply a bad dream.

She actually had two dreams that evening. In the first, the rebellion had grown to powerful proportions, peopled entirely by vampires. L'hero was still as strong and influential as ever. A great commotion was taking place outside the Palace. It was a public execution. Marie-Christine was standing in the crowd. Up on the platform, his head locked in a guillotine, about to be decapitated, was Edmund, shouting obscenities at his Slayer. As the blade flashed down, light from a torch reflected from it, blinding Mary momentarily. When her eyes adjusted, Mary found herself no longer standing next to the Slayer amid a crowd of spectators in front of the Palais de Versailles, but alone on a Prussian battlefield. Mary explains:

_There were no signs saying, "Welcome to Prussia" or anything like that. I just knew that's where it was. I knew the same way I knew Angelus was at the door that day in London. You know how sometimes you just know something? It was like that._

_I was in a field somewhere, in the middle of some kind of tall grass. Sorry, I don't really know my grasses, wheat maybe? I don't know. It was some kind of war encampment, I think. I mean there were tents all around. And soldiers. Dead ones. Some kind of battle had definitely taken place. There were dead bodies everywhere. Mostly soldiers, but there were a few women and some children, too. I think I heard screaming. There was smoke, and fire. It was horrible. I walked around, looking at everything to see what I could see. At first there was nothing but more death, but then I heard this rumbling sound. I don't even know how to describe it. I guess it was like thunder, or maybe an earthquake? And I looked around, and then I saw it. This giganimous ten foot… rock monster. He was all bumpy, and he had horns. I believe you know him as 'The Beast'? And to this day, I think he's just about the scariest thing I ever saw. He was standing there with his back to me, and you know how it is in dreams. Everything is something to explore. You never run when you really should. So I moved in for a closer look, careful to make sure he- it- never saw me. I moved around to the side, and then I realized he was standing there for reason. He was talking to someone. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I saw who he was saying it to. It was Angelus._

_I didn't need to see any more after that, so I woke up. Angelus was in Prussia, so that's where I would go. Ten-foot rock monster be damned. Angelus was mine for the killing and I wasn't gonna let some walking statue get in my way. I packed up my bag, got the girls up and dressed, then handed them over to the nanny. I told her about my other dream, the one about the rebellion and Edmund getting beheaded, and gave her the address of the Watchers' Council. Told her to take the children there as fast as she could get there. I said, "Don't even wait around to see if I'm right. Just go. If you wait, you'll likely be next." I didn't know if that part was true or not. It just seemed like a good thing to say at the time. Just to make sure she listened._

**Finding Angelus**

Mary packed a bag with a few changes of street clothes, some basic living necessities, and weapons- lots of weapons. Amid the usual array of vampire-slaying implements (i.e. stakes and holy water), she also added some heavier artillery that had been given to her either by the Watchers' Council, or by Edmund as a part of her training. Included in her arsenal were a battle-axe from the Byzantine Empire, a Roman dagger with a bloodstone set into the hilt, her trusty crossbow, and her favorite- a medieval era British sword. She told me she liked the way it felt hanging in the shoulder-harness on her back, and the fact that it could cut through anything and she could wield as if it were an extension of her arm, were certainly bonuses.

After making certain that her nieces were headed safely out of the country and on their way back to London, Mary climbed on her horse and rode in the opposite direction toward Prussia. She traveled on pure instinct, unsure exactly how to get there or what she would do if and when she found Angelus. Her plan, naturally, was to kill him, take her revenge for what he had done to her family, and stop him from killing any more of them. Beyond that, she hadn't a clue. How she would do it, how easy or difficult it would be, or whether she could do it at all, she didn't know. There was also the issue of the ten foot rock monster she had seen in her dream. There wasn't a weapon in her entire arsenal with which she could possibly hope to defeat a beast of that caliber. If he was truly what stood between Mary and vengeance, she knew her desire- her need- for retribution would go unfulfilled. There was no other choice. As badly as she wanted Angelus to pay for his crimes against her family, and against humanity, and as much as she wanted to be the one to extract that payment, she wasn't about to let herself be killed by a walking pile of granite in the process. She would have to take solace in the fact that if the Beast killed Angelus before she had the chance, at least his reign of terror would end. It did not even occur to her that the two might be in league with each other.

After a long and arduous journey, Mary finally made it to Prussia in November 1789. Though winter was nearly upon them, no snow had yet fallen, and the grasses were still quite high. As she rode along the Prussian countryside, she came upon a copse of trees. On instinct, she guided her horse through the dense woods, and when she reached the clearing on the other side, she found herself staring across a field much like the one she had seen in her dream. Mary describes the scene.

_I knew right away that it was the same field. And I could practically smell Angelus. Not literally, of course. More like a sixth sense. Like the way an antelope knows there's a lion. Also my horse started freakin' out. He did __not__ wanna go into that field. So I took him back into the woods a little ways and tied him to a tree. I grabbed my bag and went in on foot._

_I couldn't see much, what with the grass, and it being dark and all, but about half way through I tripped over a body. It was a soldier. I looked up and that's when I noticed the rest of 'em. I'm not saying they were lined up or anything, they were sorta spread out like, all willy-nilly, but they definitely made a trail. Captain Dead Guy still had his gun, so I took it. I knew it wouldn't do me much good against Angelus, and even less against Rocky, but I thought it would give me a window in case I had to run. When I bent down to get the gun, I saw footprints. Fresh ones. And they were shoe prints, not big beastie prints. Angelus had taken that same path just a little while before I did. I could feel it. So I stood up and moved away into the grass a little so I wouldn't be seen and started following the body trail._

_I didn't have to go far before I finally saw him. But unlike my dream, it was Angelus that had his back to me, not the Beast. I pulled out my sword and held it at the ready and stuck the gun in its place. Then I moved farther into the grass and tried to circle around to the other side so I'd be behind the Beast, facing Angelus head-on. They were wrapped up in their conversation and didn't notice me. I was focusing on my own agenda, so I didn't pay attention to what they were saying. I had almost got around them and I looked down just for a second to watch my step, and when I looked up Angelus was flying past me like a human projectile. Or vampire projectile, if you prefer._

_So I scrunched down out of sight and watched the Beast thunder past me towards where Angelus had landed. Once he passed me, I tucked the sword under my arm and pulled the gun out, then moved into the open. I was sure the Beast was gonna finish Angelus off and I wanted to see it. But he never got the chance. These three witches- well, I guess they were witches, I don't know what else you'd call them- appeared out of nowhere and started chanting in some weird language. The next thing I knew, the Beast was just gone. I wanted to ask them just what the hell they thought they were doing, protecting Angelus like that, but then they disappeared too._

_So now I had Angelus all to myself. He looked like he was unconscious, but for all I knew, he was faking. So I went in real slow like and kept the gun pointed right at him. Like I said, I knew it wouldn't kill him, but it could hurt him real bad, and that was fine by me. I put my bag down and went up to him as close as I dared and took a real good look. The Beast had done quite a number on him. He had a big purple bruise starting to form on his jaw. I didn't even know that vampires __could__ bruise. But they can, and he was. And his lip was cut, like maybe he bit it. He sure didn't look like much all passed out and banged up like he was._

_I lowered the gun and pulled my sword out and started pokin' at him with it. He didn't even move. So then I kicked at him. Still nothing. So then I brought my sword up and got ready to chop his head off with it, but then I thought, "What fun is it, if he doesn't see it coming?" It also occurred to me that if he woke up I might have quite a fight on my hands. I had to debilitate him first. So I backed up a ways and kicked him in the nuts. Hard. That did it. He woke up screaming bloody murder. Popped up like a jack-in-the-box and started cradling his crushed jewels. So I shot him. Caught him in the left shoulder, sent him right back down again. He starts floppin' around like a fish, tryin' to figure out which thing to grab. It was beautiful. I was lovin' every minute of it._

_I could tell he was trying to look past the pain to see who is attacker was, and since I wanted the same thing, I backed off a few steps, but I kept my gun on him. I'd never even held a gun before, let alone fired one, but so far I was likin' it. I waited for him to settle down a bit, then I said something like, "Remember me, you bastard?" Then he squints up at me and says, " Elizabeth?" I go, " Wrong answer!" and shoot him in the left thigh. Just a few inches from his you-know-where. He screams some more, and it was like music to my ears. I waited some more, then finally he looks at me again, and I can see the gears turning in his head, putting two and two together. Finally he says, "Ah, you must be Mary. I should've realized. You're older than she was." It pissed me off to hear him talk about her like that, but I held myself in check. I said, "Good. Now that we've been properly introduced, say 'Goodbye.' "_

_I used my powers to pull out my crossbow and aimed it, dropping my other weapons. I was just about to pull the trigger when this voice comes to me out of nowhere, yelling at me to stop. It startled me and I jerked, pulling the trigger anyway. I just missed his heart. And I __never__ miss. __Never. __I caught him in the sternum instead. So I looked around to see where the voice coming from. But there was no one there. I took aim again, and this time the voice stopped me before I even touched the trigger. It was a woman's voice, with a thick Irish accent. She said, "Mary, no! You can't kill him!" So now I'm getting pissed. Not only had this mystery woman interrupted me twice, but she knew my name. And she was making a fool out of me. Angelus was looking at me like I'd completely lost my mind. He didn't even hear her, thought I was talking to myself._

_I started looking all around and demanded she show herself. She did. It was Anna. I swear, I could see her just as clearly as I can see you now. Not at all transparent like you see in the movies these days. And she wasn't in my head either. She was there! But I guess I was the only one that could see her, because Angelus kept asking who I was talking to. To which I answered by putting a bullet in his kneecap. Anyway, she tells me that I can't kill Angelus cuz he's apparently got some grand destiny, where he's gonna save millions of lives.__ [shrugs]__ I laughed. I couldn't help it. The very idea of Angelus somehow saving the world one day was beyond ridiculous. Then she explains that if she hadn't been hiding from Angelus at the time, my mother and father never would've met, Lizzie and I would never have been born, and the same would go for the next several generations. Angelus had to live, and keep killing us off one by one, or the rest of you lot would never be born. And millions of people would die because Angelus wasn't around to save them. __[laughs hysterically] __Sorry, but even now it just sounds so ludicrous I can't help it._

**An Uneasy Alliance**

The bottom line was Angelus couldn't die. Mary had effectively incapacitated him, so that for a time, he would be easy prey for anyone or anything that wanted to do him in, and he had made a lot of enemies in his thirty-six years of unlife. As a result, it was now Mary's duty to see to his well-being, until he was once again at full strength. This left Mary in quite a quandary. On the one hand, she wanted to heal Angelus as soon as possible so she could be rid of him once and for all. On the other hand, the moment he could stand on his own two feet again, and no longer had to depend on her for his livelihood, he would surely kill her.

This indisputable truth was compounded by the fact that Mary made the tragic mistake of repeating Anna's side of the conversation to Angelus. She reasoned that if she could no longer hurt him physically, she could at least hurt him with words. She assumed that the last thing Angelus would want to hear would be that he would one day save the world. The problem was he didn't believe it was true. He did, however, believe that she believed it. Whenever she would attempt to threaten him with bodily harm, he would simply remind her that she couldn't kill him, and would only be prolonging her own misery if she crippled him further.

Eventually Mary and Angelus reached an understanding. Neither of them wanted to be in the position the fates had placed them in, and both wanted to end the arrangement as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Mary made it clear to him that while she did not want to be stuck doting on him any longer than absolutely necessary, she was willing to suffer through a bit longer if it meant doling out the punishment he so richly deserved. His suffering would be far greater than hers if he continued to incur her wrath. Mary elaborates:

_It was sort of a "I scratch your back, and you stay the hell off mine" kinda deal. He knew he had no leverage over me, as long as he was broken down like he was, and dependent on me for his survival. And I could keep him that way for as long as I wanted. He knew that too. Not that he couldn't still be a snot at times. He was. But for the most part, he played nice and called truce._

While Angelus recuperated from his injuries, the two passed the time making small talk and getting to know one another. They traded stories about their lives, their childhoods, and the like. Angelus explained about his father, how he came to meet Darla and become the creature that he was. Mary told him about the Penn's, her Puritan upbringing, and discovering her powers. She told him about her training, working with the Slayer, and about L'Hero. He told her what he did to Elizabeth.

_Or he tried to, Mary explained. He really only got as far implying what he had done, before I threw Holy Water on him. He changed the subject pretty quick, then, and never mentioned her after that. I found out later that it was all bullshit anyway, except the part about her being alive somewhere. Well, dead, but as alive as I am now, anyway. What he did manage to get out before I gave him the what-for, was just to get a rise out of me. Congratulations! It worked._

Their alliance lasted roughly two weeks. For the first few days, Mary refused to sleep in Angelus' presence, and would only rest during the day, outside the abandoned barn where they made their camp. Winter was fast approaching, however, and sleeping outside, even in the daytime, soon ceased to be a viable option. Angelus had been behaving decently, and since he still appeared to be reasonably incapacitated, Mary risked giving him her trust while she slept inside with him.

By mutual agreement they kept their conversations off of sensitive topics like Angelus killing her family, and onto safer subjects such as religion and politics. Mary reluctantly kept him fed, bringing him small animals and the occasional deer or stray dog that she had hunted and killed herself. Angelus was less than thrilled at the notion of eating animals, let alone dead ones, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so he begrudgingly accepted what she chose to give him, and gradually began to heal.

On the final day, when she deemed Angelus to be sufficiently healed to fend for himself, Mary prepared to head out for parts unknown. Maybe she would track down her nieces and they could be a family again. The air was brutally cold, and there was ample snow on the ground, but the sun was bright in the sky, and Angelus would be unable to follow her. By the time he himself would be able to leave, Mary could be long gone, and unlikely to cross his path again.

Angelus, though, had other plans. As has been mentioned previously, he could be quite charming at times, and very persuasive. Mary was not looking forward to braving the bitter cold outside, and since he had begun to earn her trust, when he asked her to wait a moment, she stopped to hear him out, though she was still careful to remain in the patch of sunlight coming through the open door. Mary takes a moment to come to terms with the memory, before continuing her tale.

_He wanted… The last thing he'd eaten was a badger two days before. Hello? Winter time, not a lot of critters running about out there. I was lucky to find that. He said it would be unfair of me to make him wait another full day, and then send him out into a cold, snow-covered night on an empty stomach. If I did that, I would be no better than him. Yes, he actually said that. He also said that if he should happen to run into one of his enemies, in his current condition, he wouldn't stand a chance against them. They'd kill him easily, and it would be the end of the world. Oh yeah. He played the destiny card. Me and my big mouth. I never should've told him. He was right though. I couldn't send him out like that. It would've made the last couple weeks all for nothing. And there was no way I was gonna find anything for him outside. His only chance was to get to a town, and I sure as Hell wasn't gonna stick around that long. So I gave him me. Stupid, I know, but there was no other choice. He promised that he wouldn't take it all, that he'd be careful, and I kept a cross handy, just in case. I thought it would be all right. But I guess I must have dropped it at some point, and… well… here I am._

Some months after my conversation with Mary, when Angelus had become Angel again, I asked him why he had done it. Did he have no scruples at all? Was it his plan all along, to gain her trust, then cut her down like he had all the others? Somehow, Angel managed to simultaneously hang his head in shame while glaring at me in defiance before attempting to justify himself.

_**I swear it was accident. I didn't mean to kill her. Really. It was just… You don't know what it's like. I had been living on human blood for the last thirty-six years. Until she came along, I didn't know anything else. And then she just takes it away, and gives me… badgers.**_

At this point, he has to stop, realizing he's entering dangerous territory, blaming Mary for his killing her. After my own experiences with his alter-ego, and his unsettling relationship with my sister, my patience with Angel was almost nil. It didn't take much for him to set me off, and like Mary, I could hurt him pretty bad without much effort. He averts his eyes and takes a moment to rethink his words before continuing.

_**That was all I had the whole time I was with her, and I'm sorry, Rowynne, but it wasn't good. It was only slightly better than… Well, I don't know what it's better than. It's pretty awful. Better than nothing I guess. And I know it was only a coupla weeks, but from where I sat, it seemed like forever.**_

He meets my eyes, then, as if searching for sympathy, but he's barking up the wrong witch. Try being chained to a bed for days while Angelus breaks out his bag of tricks, then talk to me about forever. I have no sympathy for his badger-eating days. Angel recognizes this and continues.

_**So when she finally… when she let me drink her, when I got that first taste of human blood again, it was like… like the guy in the desert when he finds the oasis. It was so… I couldn't stop. By the time I did, and I realized what had happened… it was too late… I turned her because I thought it was the least I could do. I didn't mean to kill her, Rowynne. I didn't.**_


	8. Brigid and Cara Penn

**Chapter Seven**

**Brigid and Cara Penn 1786-1811**

**In Search Of…**

Locating Brigid and Cara for an interview is like getting a vampire to go to church, only getting a vampire to church is a bit easier. Brigid and Cara are the most elusive of my ancestors, and I can't help but wonder how it was Angelus was able to find them so easily. While attempting to write this chapter, I half considered bringing Angelus back temporarily just so I could track them down. (Yes, I can do that, but it isn't recommended.) They don't own cell phones. They don't have answering machines or a message service of any kind. In fact, just getting a phone number for them was chore enough. I finally had to resort to enlisting the help of my third-great grandmother, Annie Kalderash, whose insistence prompted me to write this piece in the first place. Even she, who is arguably one of the most powerful among us, the unofficial matriarch of the family (though her branch lies in the middle of our family tree) had considerable difficulty finding them. At last, after much painstaking research and foot work, Annie managed to acquire an e-mail address for Cara.

Still, my quest was long from over. It took weeks of sending e-mails, and getting no response before I finally received a phone call, in May 1999. By this time, however, I already had my hands full with the Slayer. The night Cara called me, was the very night Angel had chosen to end his relationship with Buffy. As you could imagine, she was quite distraught, and in an attempt to take her mind off it, I took her to visit my Aunt Trudi in New York, who took us to a show on Broadway. We were in the Theatre when my phone rang, and I was thus unable to talk. The chance wouldn't come again until that summer, while awaiting the birth of my daughters at my mother's home in Del Playa, California.

**Council Wards**

After hearing Cara and Brigid's tale, I began to understand their reclusiveness. While the rest of us didn't exactly have it easy growing up, what with the running and the dying and what have you, we at the least had families who cared about us. Cara and Brigid, however, weren't so lucky. As instructed, the servant girl charged with their safety when Mary began her hunt for Angelus, took the twins to London, and placed them Watcher's Council custody. After the tragedy at the Penn house, the Council did not want to make the same mistake twice. It was decided that only way to ensure their continued survival was to keep them at Council Headquarters as wards. There, it was reasoned, would be a surplus of hands on deck, trained in combat against vampires, with the knowledge necessary to prevent an invasion similar to the one visited on the Penn household.

Unfortunately, the increased security meant a decrease in the semblance of a normal childhood for Brigid and Cara. There were no other children for them to play with, and the Council Headquarters was hardly what could be considered a proper home for anyone, let alone children. With the multitude of weapons kept in various locations about the estate, constant supervision was required to ensure that the girls didn't injure themselves playing with something that they shouldn't. Cara remembers:

_It was like we couldn't do __anything__. It was always, "Don't touch that!" or "Stay away from that!" No, no, no! It was always "No". Of course, we understand __now__, but then it just seemed like they were just being mean._

Sometimes, that was exactly the case. While many of the Watchers and other employees of the Council sympathized with the girls for the curse that seemed to lay upon their family, some of the Watchers who came and went had nothing but contempt for them. It was nothing personal of course. Some of them just didn't care for children.

_That's not entirely true, chimed Brigid. Sometimes it was completely personal. There was one guy. Hayward H. Muzzlewit. [affects her best Thurston Howell impression as she says his name] I'm pretty sure the "H" stood for Horse's Ass. He hated women, and he despised children with a fiery passion. How that bastard ever got to be a Watcher is beyond me. It was his firm belief, which he made a point of sharing with us at every opportunity, that our being there was inviting catastrophe. He wholeheartedly believed in the idea that our family was cursed, and that our presence there would surely wreak havoc on the Council._

Fortunately the Council paid no heed to Mr. Muzzlewit's warnings, and allowed the girls to remain there into their adolescence. That is not to say, they were kicked out the moment they hit puberty. Brigid and Cara just never felt at home with the Council of Watchers. Apart from clothes, and the occasional trinket one of the friendlier Watchers would bring for them from time to time, they really didn't have anything of their own there, save for the family diary they received on their thirteenth birthday. Mary had sent it along to them in a plain brown wrapper, with no writing on it of any kind, only their names. Brigid explains:

_We just went to our room one night, and there it was, lying on the bed. The Council never even knew we had it. If they had, I'm not sure they would've let us keep it. Either way, they probably would've taken it as a sign that our "Curse" was catching up with us. Made us go underground or something, like we weren't already in hiding as it was. I don't even know how she got in. The Headquarters may not have been a proper home, but as far as vampires were concerned, it counted. We saw several try to get in over the years, but they were kept out every time by the whole "invitation only" clause._

Hearing this peaked my own curiosity as to how Mary had got into the Council Headquarters undetected to deliver The Book. After Brigid and Cara finished their tale and returned home, I phoned my ninth-great Aunt and asked how she had managed such a Houdini-like feat as breaking into the Council Headquarters as an uninvited vampire.

_I never did. After I woke up in the barn, and realized what had happened, I went to London to find them, make sure they were okay, in case Angelus had gone looking for them while I was out. When I did find them, I rented a flat nearby so I could keep an eye them. I watched them for quite a while. And I listened. So I knew the Council was keeping them there instead adopting them out. And I knew which room they were staying in. I waited until I felt the time was right, and when the coast was clear, I sent The Book in through the window. I never set foot in the place. Gotta love telekinesis, right?_

Had Brigid and Cara been aware of this at the time, they may not have made the decision that would ultimately end their lives. Much of my family never would have existed, myself included, but Brigid and Cara likely would have lived long healthy lives. That wasn't in the cards however, as Cara explains.

_[The Book] really freaked us out. Not just what was in it, y'know especially the part about Mary waking up dead, but the way it was delivered. If Mary had gotten in apparently without any trouble at all, what was to stop and Angelus from doing the same? And we didn't even really know anything about her. I mean, yeah, we knew she was a vampire. At least The Book said she was. But we had no idea what she was like. As far as we knew, she could be as bad as him. Or worse. Maybe she was with him. We didn't know. And she clearly had access to the house, or so we thought. So since we never really felt at home there anyway, we decided it would be best if we just left._

**A Partridge and a Pear Tree**

They waited until early the following morning, and on May 4, 1801, with no money and nowhere to go, packed a few changes of clothes, and the family diary, and left the Watcher's Council Headquarters that had been their home all their lives. While in the Council's custody, they had not been allowed off of the estate, and thus had no inkling of what awaited them on the outside. It wasn't long however, before they found out. London, in those days, was far from enticing, and even less friendly. Garbage and waste littered the streets, while vagrants struggled with each other over the last dry bit of cobblestone on which to rest their tired bones. Not a thought was spared on the two teenage runaways. They were scarcely noticed at all, and found nary an ounce of compassion or sympathy when they were. For the next three years, they would wander the streets, scrapping for the same dry bits of cobblestone in which their fellow vagabonds were so interested. They scraped by doing odd jobs for the occasional Londoner who cared enough to hear their pitch, and the less common scattering of spare change that was thrown their way.

They kept moving so as not to wear out their welcome in any one neighborhood, or attract any unwanted attention, and eventually made their way into Old Wapping, where they met a man named, John Williamson. He and his wife Elizabeth had been lodging at a Public House known as The Kings Arms nearly as long as the twins had been alive. While the kind elderly couple was in no position to take the girls in themselves, their long residency at the Arms put them in good standing with the proprietor, Joseph Partridge, who gave them both jobs as serving girls. They remained there until November 1810 when Cara, doing an errand for Mr. Atkins, chanced to meet a man named John Williams, a twenty-seven year old sailor, who was a boarder at the nearby Pear Tree. Cara felt immediately drawn to him and the two began dating. Soon after (too soon in Brigid's opinion), Mr. Williams invited Cara to join him at The Pear Tree. Not long after that, she found herself in a delicate condition, and on November 26, 1811, gave birth to Moira and Rebecca Williams.

Though Cara happily gave up her job for the new man in her life, Brigid had no choice but to remain at The Kings Arms, pouring drinks and smiling coyly for the clientele. Then, in early December word came to the Arms of an entire family being murdered in their home not far where Brigid made her home. Four people in total had met brutal ends within the supposed security of their home while their neighbors slept, oblivious of the tragedy taking place mere meters away. Less than two weeks later, on December 19, 1811, Brigid endured a similar fate. Brigid recalls the evening as if it were yesterday.

_I was serving drinks, as usual, and listening to the gossip of the day as I always did to keep myself entertained. Then, the talk was still on the Marr Murders. The killer was still at large, and everyone was scared shitless. Many of our regular customers had already hit the road, afraid they might be next. If something like this could happen inside a person's very home, their castle, then it could happen anywhere. London was no longer safe, assuming it ever was, of course. But what really struck me was the brutality of it. I couldn't help but think of the stories we had read about Angelus, though I tried to convince myself that one had nothing to do with the other. This murder could easily have been the work of humans, it didn't necessarily mean Angelus was around._

_It didn't necessarily mean he wasn't, either. So I kept my ear out, listening for any shred of info that might indicate vampires. But I heard nothing of the sort, until I heard a thick Irish accent describe the crime scene as "Pure Artistry". I remembered reading of Mary's conversations with Angelus, and his belief that killing was an art form. She had quoted him saying that without artistry, there was no point to it. I looked up from the drink I was pouring, to see who had made such a statement, and I saw __him__. I was staring eyeball to eyeball with him, and I was so shocked, I dropped the pitcher, and knocked over the glass I was pouring it into. __His__ glass. And it rolled right off the table into his lap, following the cascade of spilt beer. I don't know if he recognized me at all, but he definitely recognized that I recognized __him. __You know? So I apologized like I would've to any other customer, and made a half- hearted attempt to clean the mess, like I normally would. He behaved like any other customer and assured me that it was all right. "These things happen," he said. Then I excused myself, told Joe that I wasn't feeling well, and went straight up to my room._

_For a moment I couldn't do anything but sit there on my bed. I was terrified, knowing what was to come. And I didn't need any kind of a sixth sense to figure it out, either. I'd read enough, and heard enough to know how he operated. Still, y'know those pesky visions. They just can't leave well enough alone. I could practically see it all as if it were already happening._

_I finally got a hold of myself, and started packing. I didn't have much to my name, so it didn't take long. Another minute or two, and I would've been out of there, on my way to get Cara and the girls and get the Hell out of England. But I didn't have another minute or two. I don't know how he did it, but he was already in the room, the door locked before I even knew he was there. It couldn't have been because I was engrossed in packing, 'cause like I said, I didn't have much. Everything I was taking was already in my bag, except for The Book, which was laying out in plain sight, right there on my bed._

_I looked up, and there he was, leaning up against the door, all casual-like, cocky as sin, watching me. I froze, then started backing up to the far side of the room, trying to put as much distance between us as I could, as I scanned the room for weapon. Of course, there wasn't one. Just my lamp. I half considered hitting him with it, but thought better of it. I didn't think it would do enough damage, and was more likely to just piss him off. Instead, I said something like, "No, please. I-I won't tell a soul. I swear. No one has to know what you are. It'll be our secret, I promise." That cocky grin of his never left his face. If anything, it just got wider, and he started moving toward the bed, which was the only thing between us._

_He said, "And who would believe you, if you did?' "My sister," I said. I just blurted it out before I realized what I was saying. "She'll believe me." I knew instantly that I'd made a mistake. I could practically see his ears perk up at the mention of a sister, though he seemed far from surprised. That was when he noticed The Book, and he must have recognized it from when Mary had it. He put his hand on the cover and started tracing the engravings on it with his finger. "Oh, you have a sister," he says. "Hmm, twins?" "No," I said. "Did I say 'My' sister? I meant to say 'A' sister. That I know. She's a nun." Clearly he wasn't buying it. He had already put two and two together, what with The Book and my little slip of the tongue. He said, "Well, don't worry. I'll save plenty of room for her." Or something to that effect. And then he was on me before I could blink._

_He grabbed me, and threw me down on the bed. And do I really need to go into detail about what happened then? You're probably pretty familiar with his m.o. by now, aren't you? [I indicated she was correct, and she continued] I was completely helpless. There was nothing I could do, now, but scream. So I did. As loud as I could. He hit me across the face and almost knocked me out; I could see stars. But I kept on. If I made enough of a racket, he would have to stop. Someone would come, and he'd have to stop._

_After what seemed like forever, someone finally did. Mr. Williamson and his wife were just a couple doors down, and he burst through the door like a human battering ram (The doors weren't so sturdy in those days, not that Mr. Williamson was a tiny man.), and pulled Angelus off me before he knew what was happening. I should've taken the opportunity, then, to run for my life, but I was still in shock. I had blood running down my neck and my dress was shredded to almost nothing. I know it sounds stupid, given the circumstances, but I just didn't want anyone to see me like that. So I stayed. I hugged my knees to my chest, and watched the fight._

_For a moment, it seemed like Mr. Williamson was winning. Angelus was sporting a couple good cuts, and Mr. Williamson had barely a mark. But then Angelus put on his game face and it was all over. I tried to jump in and help him, like he had helped me, but Angelus swatted me down like a bug, and the whole world went dark. When I came to, everyone was dead. And apparently so was I. I had to dig myself out of a whole in the ground at St. George's._

While it may have seemed like an eternity to Brigid, the entire horror show was over in mere minutes. None of the patrons downstairs were even aware of the struggle until much later, when the bodies were discovered. The typical barroom raucous downstairs must have been sufficient to cover up any sounds of violence drifting down from upstairs, for by the time anyone was aware of a problem, Angelus was long gone. This time he had The Book, and one of the last entries revealed that Cara was residing at The Pear Tree, with a Mr. John Williams. To Angelus, this was like a gift from God, or whatever it is one believes in if they're a vampire. Armed with his new knowledge, Angelus tucked the book under his arm, and made tracks for The Pear Tree, a demon on a mission.


	9. Angelus v Cara

**Chapter Eight**

Written in his own words, in that very same book nearly hundred years later, Angel describes his actions following Brigid's murder and subsequent siring. I've included within his account, Cara's own retelling of events, as I've felt it necessary in this case for chronological cohesion. Angel's words appear in **bold.**

_**I walked to The Pear Tree with a renewed sense of purpose. My head swimming with all sorts of thoughts about what I was going to do her when I found her. Whether I would take her inside, or get her to come outside. I didn't know at the time that she'd had children. There was no mention of them here. Perhaps Brigid had had some foresight, some vision of the future that told her it would be better if she didn't. Or maybe she simply hadn't found the time. In either case, I didn't find out about them until after the fact.**_

_It was something like that. Only I was the one who told Brigid not to do it. She had come for supper shortly after the first murders, and had mentioned that she hadn't got around to writing about the girls yet. Said she wanted to wait until there was something more to write about. I told her it would probably be wiser if she didn't write about them at all. I said, "There's a killer on the loose, that might well be Angelus." It was best to err on the side of caution, and not leave documents lying around that could lead him to the girls. Well, that was when she started trying to get me to leave. If I was so worried, why would I stay? I responded saying it was equally possible that it wasn't Angelus, and even if it was, he wouldn't know where to find us. As long as we didn't draw attention to ourselves, we would be fine. He'd never know we were here, and where would we go anyway? We'd already done the Oliver Twist thing, and I had no intention of going back. [shakes her head ruefully] Stupid._

_**I had nearly reached The Pear Tree when I saw her, standing there in the middle of the street, like she was waiting for me. She was beautiful. It was almost as if she had dressed for the occasion. The way she had her hair tied back, with just a few soft, red curls framing her face, she looked just like my Anna. I still thought about her from time to time, even then, and I frequently regretted that I hadn't brought her with me.**_

_I was waiting for him, and I did dress for the occasion. I had been asleep when Brigid died, and was awakened by one of those mind numbing, make-the-rest-of-the-world go away visions. I saw what he did to her, experienced it as if it had been me. I knew it was too late to save her. The vision made it clear to me that she was already dead. And I knew it was likely also too late to save myself, but I could still save my children, if I kept him away from the house. If he thought I was the last, he would have no reason to go there. And whatever happened to me, I was certain John would keep them safe._

_I knew what he liked, from my visions, and from reading the Diary, and intentionally made myself up to look like Anna. Then I slipped out, quiet as a mouse, and went down to meet Angelus. When I finally caught sight of him coming up the street, I put all my effort in rooting myself to the spot, and doing my best Darla impression. At least according to what Anna had written of her from her dream. My head was pounding with the sound of my own racing heartbeat, and it was all I could do to keep from fleeing right then and there. Instead, I forced my feet to move, and began taking slow, measured steps towards him, praying with all my soul for him to take the bait. He did._

_**I knew she was baiting me, but I couldn't help myself. She looked so lovely standing there like that. She was Anna and Darla, all wrapped up in one perfect package. She was there to make me an offer, I knew, some delicious bargain to stop me from killing her. It didn't really matter what she offered me. I was going to kill her no matter what, one way or another. The only real question was when, where, and how. But I couldn't contain my curiosity. I had to hear her proposal. It would make her death that much sweeter, luring into a false sense of hope, only to snatch it away again the moment she felt safe. Betrayal can be more agonizing any torture even I can devise.**_

**Showdown in Old Wapping**

_I stopped maybe six feet from him, just out of arm's reach, and waited for him to come to me. He didn't. He stopped, too. Our eyes met across the void, and for a moment, neither of us spoke, just looked at each other. I broke the silence first. I said, "Hello, Angelus." I thought perhaps hearing his name, spoken so matter-of-factly, might knock him off his game a notch. But he just smiled, pleased to be recognized. That's his most deadly weapon, by the way, his smile. Anyone who didn't know him, would've been immediately taken in by that smile. But I knew better, and kept my focus._

_**I could tell she was terrified. I could smell the fear wafting off of her like the smoke from a flame. But she held her ground. I admired that. There aren't many who could do that. And Cara was the best I'd seen. Oh, Mary was fairly convincing, but when your opponent is on the ground, and you have all the weapons, it's not too difficult. Cara was unarmed, and still she stood, waiting, making not the slightest attempt at escape.**_

_**She said my name, I think, to try to confuse me somehow, or surprise me. In truth, it did, if only a little. But I wasn't about let her see that, I'd been playing this game for a long time now, and I was the best there was. So I just smiled back at her and said, "Cara, is it?" Her eyes flickered just briefly at the sound of her name, but she reacted no more than that. She gave the slightest of nods, and I said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."**_

_He stepped toward me then, as if to shake my hand, and I reflexively stepped back. Just a half-step, no more. I didn't want to show him even a fraction of the fear I was feeling, though I knew without question that he could smell it. I hid my flub with a half-assed curtsy and said, "Charmed. I've read a lot about you."_

_**"Indeed," I told her. "No doubt you have." And I revealed this diary. Her eyes widened at the sight of it. She clearly hadn't expected that. But it only lasted for an instant, before she recovered.**_

_Seeing The Book in his hands was definitely a shock I wasn't prepared for. I had expected him to read it, of course, if he happened to find it, but the last thing I anticipated was for him to keep it. I tried to hide my surprise, and continue the game, still unsure how it should play out. "impressive record," I told him. "You must be so proud." He still never lost that insipid grin. I wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his smug little face. But I held out a little longer to see what his next move would be._

_**"Some of my best work," I agreed, as I stepped closer. "Care for a demonstration?' All the colour drained from her face, then, like liquid from a glass. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed. Her fear so clearly represented on her face, in just that manner, unique only to her, and only in that moment, was more thrilling than a chorus of screams. I wanted to take her then, but I held back. For in that moment, I knew the game was nearly at an end, and I wanted to savor every last moment of it.**_

_I lowered my head for a moment to collect myself, and to try to hide the fear I knew was etched on my face, though I'm sure by then it was too late. I swallowed hard and tried not give the impression of surrender. Then I raised my chin and stared, unblinking, deep into his eyes. "All right," I said, and I moved passed him, my head held high, into the darkness, and away from The Pear Tree, willing him to follow._

_**I was dumbstruck. It was like she was giving up, only she wasn't. She merely brushed past me and went on her way. As if our business was concluded, and now she had more important matters to attend to. She didn't even hurry. Just walked off casually, like she didn't care. Like it made no difference to her whether or not I followed her. Yet, at the same time, it was clear that she expected just that. And it didn't matter. I was as inconsequential to her as a smudge on her window. More so. For a moment, I could only stand there and watch her go.**_

_**Then I got mad. I had never been so completely disregarded in that fashion as far back as I can remember. Not even by my father. I caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face me. Only, she didn't spin. She turned around slowly and regarded me like some annoying pest not worth her time. "What are you playing at?" I demanded.**_

_"I'm not playing anything," I told him. "You want me, then go ahead and take me. I can't really stop you, and I've never really been much of a fighter, anyway. But I should warn you, folks around here have been rather on edge lately, ever since Thomas Marr and his family were murdered in their home two weeks ago. Your work?" He looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. I didn't let him a word in, regardless._

_**Then she went on about how no one had been sleeping much, and any one of them could be watching us at that moment. Her words seemed to be pleading her case, bargaining for her life. She must have known how I valued my anonymity. It was how I'd survived as long as I had. Being discreet, not drawing attention to myself. The last thing I wanted was to make a scene and have to face down a mob. If there was a chance I would have to do just that, then I wasn't going to lay a hand on her. I could wait. She had to have known that. Yet here she was listing all the reasons why I couldn't or shouldn't kill her where we were, all the while leading me away from that relative safety, to place where I could kill her. It was baffling. I just didn't know what to make of her. The only thing I could think at the time, was that she must have been leading me into some kind of trap.**_

_**Still, I couldn't help myself. I was compelled to follow her. It felt almost as if I were in a dream, being pulled along by some invisible rope. She continued leading me south, away from the neighbourhood in Old Wapping, towards the docks. She wasn't in any particular hurry, neither was she interested in lingering about in any one place, stopping to admire the scenery. It was apparent she had a destination in mind, and wouldn't stop until she had reached it. I was wary about what would be waiting for us, for me, when we arrived. I was still convinced that she had some ulterior motive for leaving the safety of a populated neighbourhood, in favor of the uncertainty of seclusion.**_

_**We reached the docks, and still she didn't slow her footsteps. My eyes and ears were wide open, now, on the alert for anyone or anything that might be waiting in ambush. I knew her family had been involved with the Slayers, and the men in charge of them for decades, and it occurred to me then that this may have been her plan all along. She must have arranged for a group of them to wait for her here. At any moment, they would leap from the shadows with their stakes, and their crossbows and any number of other weapons they had at their disposal. To launch an attack that even I couldn't defend myself against.**_

_**But I saw nothing, heard nothing, and no such attack ever came. I had stayed a safe distance behind her, that I might have enough warning to escape, should my intuition prove correct, but now, as she approached a cargo ship moored there, she paused at the gangplank and waited for me to catch up. She didn't speak, but merely looked at me over her shoulder to see that I was following, and when she was certain that I was, continued up onto the deck of the ship. Still cautious, I followed her along the port side, to the bow of the ship, where she finally stopped and waited.**_

_I had succeeded where no one else had. I had taken him so thoroughly off his game, that when he should have been moving in for the kill, he was peekin' in the shadows, looking for the boogeyman. I could practically hear him sniffing the air like a dog scenting for danger. His thoughts were like an open book to me. I knew he was just waiting for something or someone, actually several someones, to jump out and fire crossbows at him or some other such nonsense. I would've laughed it wasn't so damn sad, and well, y'know, that whole impending death thing._

_I waited there at the bow until I sensed he was within earshot, then I turned, ever so slightly, and told him, matter-of-factly, "There's no one here. You can relax." Then I turned around like I'd just commented on the weather and went back to watching the water. I remember thinking how beautiful it was, the waxing crescent moon high in the sky making thin trails on the water, the waves splashing lightly on the hull of our ship, and the others resting in the harbor, buoys dinging in the distance. I thought that if this was to be my last sight on this earth, then that would be just fine. It was a perfect vision to take with me to the grave, if that was to be my fate._

_**I was a bit taken aback, at first, hearing her give voice to my own apprehensions, until I remembered how often Mary had done just that during our brief time together. I took a last look around to satisfy myself that we were indeed alone before I joined her at the bow. She remarked on how beautiful she thought the water looked, and I realized at that moment, that she really had given up, though the air about her was less that of surrender, and more that of one making a sacrifice. To what ends she was making that sacrifice, I didn't know, and I couldn't leave it that way. Nothing she had said or done thus far that night made any sense to me. And to be honest, she was taking some of the joy out of it.**_

_He said I was taking his fun away (I'm paraphrasing of course), which gave me a happy 'cause that was kinda my plan all along. I was moments away from death and we both knew it. Why should he get all the fun? I allowed myself a small smile, and waited for him to grow a pair. And waited. Instead, he just stood next to me at the railing, seeming to admire the view. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore and I said, "Come on, then. Get on with it. Whatever it is you plan on doing, let's get it over with. Because I'm not giving you another chance. Whatever happens here, I __promise__ you'll never see me again. I'll be the one that got away, and you'll be the demon that __used to be__ a terrifying beast, but who was never quite the same after an encounter with an angry Puritan woman with a rock. And who, when offered a prime kill, who wasn't even putting up a fight, just couldn't bring himself to go through with it."_

_He seemed to consider that for a moment, then he asked what was in it for me. Why wasn't I trying to save my own life? Why had I brought him to this deserted section of town, instead of staying in the safety of a populated neighborhood, or for that matter, my own home? "What would be the point?" I said. "You have The Book. Surely, you've read it. You know where I live. Why should I wait there for you to come to me? Watch while you kill my loved ones, one after the other, until you finally see fit to come after me? I could run, sure, but let's be honest. You're stronger than me, faster. Eventually, you'd catch me. And I'm done looking over my shoulder. Brigid and I spent three years doing just that, after we left the Council, if not for you, then for the rest of the criminals roaming the streets. And I'm tired. I don't want to do that again. I know you're going to kill me eventually, so why should I waste my time postponing the inevitable?"_

_**Her speech struck a chord with me. I couldn't just kill her after that. But she had made a good point. I couldn't very well let her go, either. After all, I had a reputation to maintain. Though a part of me wanted to. She really had destroyed my desire for the kill. Or maybe she was right. Perhaps the weeks I spent with Mary had changed me somehow.**_

_Still, he kept stalling. Considering my words, I guess. Then again, I had just basically ordered him to kill me, so he couldn't just jump on me right away. What would be the fun in that. I half expected him to do something silly like go, "Hey look over there!" then snatch me up like a piece of bread off someone else's plate, or offer me a ten second head start, just for the thrill of the chase. But he didn't do either. He just stood there in silence, admiring the view with me, until I started to think he had walked away when I wasn't looking. And that was when he struck. I woke up the next evening in the cargo hold on the other side of the Channel._

The murders of Thomas Marr and his family, and the murders at The King's Arms (the collection of which became known as the Ratcliffe Highway Murders) as well as Cara's own disappearance had been pinned on my seventh-great grandfather, John Williams. He'd had a beef with Mr. Marr dating back to their days as shipmates, and though he had no motive for the rest of the killings, he was charged and convicted of both crimes. He was later found hanged in his cell at Coldbath Fields Prison. The official cause of death was listed as suicide, but when they paraded his corpse through the town, he sported a wooden stake driven through his heart. It remains unclear whether this had occurred pre, or post-mortem.


	10. Rebecca and Moira Williams

**Chapter Nine**

**Rebecca and Moira Williams 1811-1827, '38**

**Someone to Watch Over Me**

Though it had been Cara's hope that after killing her, Angelus would find no reason to return to the Pear Tree, after placing Cara in the cargo hold of the ship and setting her adrift, he did just that. First however he paid a visit to the local police department. Declining to give his name, he told authorities that he had witnessed John Williams committing the recent murders, both at 29 Ratcliffe Highway, and at The Kings Arms that night. Angel writes:

_**I told the police I had gone to the Arms to visit my niece, Brigid. When I arrived, I heard the commotion upstairs, then saw Mr. Williams leap out the window, covered in blood. I followed him back to the Pear Tree, so I said, where I observed him having an argument with his wife. He hit her a couple times, then dragged her away towards the docks.**_

After concluding his business with the police, Angelus returned to the Pear Tree, himself, and watched from the shadows as the scene played out before him. Officers converged on the Public House, and Angelus continued to watch as John was carted out of the house, in handcuffs, one officer on each side. Behind him were two more officers, each carrying a female infant. They appeared to be twins, and each of them had strands of strawberry blonde hair poking out from their bonnets, just like Cara and Brigid.

Angelus knew this could be no coincidence, so he waited while officers hauled them away, then followed them back to the police station. There, he continued to linger about, and listened while the police took down all the pertinent information they would file in their reports. Their names, he learned, were Moira and Rebecca. John Williams, the supposed murderer, was their father, and Cara Penn was indeed their mother. His suspicions confirmed, Angelus continued to monitor them throughout their childhoods. He kept his eyes and ears open, and studied the diary he had stolen from Brigid with an obsessive quality akin to the way Anna had kept tabs on him all those years ago.

I had a rare opportunity, in January 2001, to interview Angelus' sire and longtime paramour, Darla, while she was recovering from a particularly violent encounter of own, with Angel. She seemed all too happy to share with me her recollections and impressions of Angelus during that time. Of course, that could have been because she expected to be compensated with some fresh blood out of the tap (I can't imagine where she could have gotten that idea). In her weakened state, however, there was little she could to collect on such a promise.

_I had no idea how deep these obsessions of his ran, until I watched him track those little girls. And I didn't understand why he wouldn't just kill him. If he wanted them that bad, why didn't he just go get them? He knew where they were, obviously. All he would say was that he wanted to wait until they could offer up more of a challenge, when they would know what was in store for them. But he never would tell me what was so special about those girls in particular. There were any number of girls that already fit that bill, but he wanted __those__ girls._

_And then there was that damned book. When he wasn't __baby__sitting, he was studying that stupid diary as if he held the secrets to the universe. Every day he would pore over that thing. And he took notes! I couldn't believe it. It was like he was going completely off his rocker right before my eyes. But that wasn't the worst of it. What was worse, was when he started adding things to it. Newspaper clippings from the Ratcliffe Murders. Sketches he had made of the girls on his stakeouts. Oh yeah, did I mention the sketches? Every night, he would go out and watch them, first at the orphanage, then with their adoptive families. Then he would come home and draw their pictures. Over and over again until he had them just right, the he would painstakingly paste them into that stupid book, like a new mother making her first baby book. It was sickening._

**Unhappy Birthdays**

Rebecca and Moira's childhood would be one plagued with a seemingly endless stream of bad luck, starting with the night their mother and aunt were brutally murdered, their father arrested for the crime. Placing the children in an orphanage proved difficult as the orphan population of the day, was vastly exceeding the space available to house them. To compensate for the overpopulation, many of the facilities adopted strict requirements for admittance, and as it was feared that accepting children with a stigma such as theirs would be inviting a similar disaster, Rebecca and Moira failed to meet said requirements. They were finally sent to the Coram Foundling Hospital, which was required, by virtue of a government grant, to accept any and all children delivered to its doors.

They remained there until 1814, when they were adopted by a couple in their mid-forties, Thomas and Celia Baker, who had so far been unable to produce children of their own and were excited by the notion of identical twins, though they were not informed of the twins' extenuating circumstances. Had they known, the Bakers might have reconsidered their choice, as in 1816, tragedy befell the Williams girls yet again. Rebecca remembers the day.

_It was our fifth birthday. The whole day was like homage to us, and all we heard all day long, was what a "milestone" it was to be five years old. We didn't know what that meant, of course, but it sounded exciting, and we looked forward to the "special treat" we were to receive that night over supper._

That "special treat" turned out to be quite different from what the Bakers had intended. While the family was finishing their evening meal, and preparing to enjoy a healthy helping of birthday cake in the girls' honor, there was a knock on the door. Mr. Baker went to answer it, and finding no one on the stoop, stepped outside to investigate. When her husband failed to return after several minutes, Celia instructed her adopted daughters to remain at the table, then went to see what was keeping her husband. After what seemed like an eternity to the two five-year-olds, and neither Thomas or Celia had returned, Rebecca and Moira ventured to the front door themselves, and discovered the bodies of their adopted parents leaning against the outer door frame, their arms wrapped about each other as if they had simply sat down to admire the view. Closer inspection revealed that their necks had been broken, and that whoever had murdered them, had also arranged them in that position. The only evidence as to who or what might have perpetrated the act, was the twin puncture wounds each sported on the right side of their throats, and the single sheet of paper pinned to Mr. Baker's chest. It read simply, "Happy Birthday, Moira and Rebecca" and was unsigned. The note never made it into the police report, however, as Moira, for reasons unknown even to her, removed it before seeking help.

The twins returned to the Foundling until 1821 when they were adopted again by Philip and Emily House. Philip, aged 35, worked at a printing press, and Emily, 26, was a Sunday School teacher, who also had a fondness for playing Bridge on Thursday evenings. On Friday, November 26, 1824 the twins reached another milestone, their thirteenth birthday. Their day was filled aiding in preparations for the lavish party that was to take place in their honor, later that evening. Friends and relatives of the Houses, as well as some of Moira and Rebecca's schoolmates, arrived in abundance to join in the celebration. As will sometimes happen at such events, the twins had an unfortunate encounter with a fruit drink and had to excuse themselves upstairs to change. When they returned roughly fifteen minutes later, they were horrified to discover their adoptive parents, as well as the more than twenty guests in attendance, all dead in the sitting room, and arranged in various positions about the room. More than half of the victims showed evidence of neck trauma. A note was pinned to the front door, the number 13 drawn to resemble a birthday cake with candles. As before, it bore no signature.

This time, when the twins returned to the Foundling, it was to a chorus of nervous whispers, and a sea of suspicious glances and pointing fingers. While the other children were placed together in large dormitory, Rebecca and Moira were given their own room, as the other children in the Home refused to sleep in the same room with them. It became apparent that Rebecca and Moira would never find a proper home. While employees of the Foundling did their best to conceal the girls' unfortunate history from prospective parents, the other children felt no such compunction, and were quick to share the story with any visitor to the orphanage who would listen. After all, they too were looking for families to love and care for them.

So it was that their sixteenth birthday was spent in relative silence, with little in the way of celebration. That was fine with them, given the pattern of horror that had plagued their previous "milestone" birthdays. The day passed uneventfully, and the twins went to bed that night feeling both melancholy and relieved. That relief was to be short-lived, however, for Moira awakened the next morning, November 27, 1827, to find her sister, cold and pale in her bed, her throat marred by twin puncture marks, a tiny trickle of blood issuing from her lips. As before, there were no witnesses to the crime, and no evidence that could be linked to a suspect. There was no note this time, only an ornately wrapped package placed on Rebecca's chest, her hands arranged over the top of it, as if she had merely fallen asleep with it. As you might have guessed, the package contained the same diary that has remained in my family's possession for nearly two and a half centuries.


	11. Moira and Daniel

**Chapter Ten**

**Moira and Daniel**

**Book and Release**

As this was the third instance of murder in Moira's childhood (forth, if you count Brigid and Cara), and no other suspects could ever be named, authorities and fellow Foundling residents grew to suspect Moira. She was arrested, and would wait more than two years in prison for police to figure out that A) Moira was physically incapable of committing the previous sets of murders, and B) Moira's dental impressions did not even remotely resemble the marks found on any of the victims. Upon her arrest, The Book was confiscated as evidence, but was found to contain nothing useful and was returned upon her release in March of 1830. She reviewed The Book studiously, and upon realizing it was the story of her family, and learning that said family originated in Ireland, began a slow journey in that direction, in hopes of learning more about her birth family, and perhaps locating a long lost relative.

With no money, no marketable skill, and prison record, Moira's journey was difficult to say the least. She quickly realized that her only hope supporting herself and reaching her final destination, was to turn to prostitution. Accepting pointers from other girls in her situation, she quickly learned how to succeed in the profession. Her youthful appearance coupled with her chameleon-like ability to become whatever the customer required made her a favorite everywhere she went, and she crossed the border into Ireland faster than she would have thought possible.

As her nineteenth birthday approached, her first birthday since her release from prison, she worried that her previous tradition of birthday horrors might reassert itself, and went on high alert. Instead of stumbling upon the corpses of loved ones, however, she stumbled, quite literally, upon Sullivan's Pub, in Dublin. While passing by on November 26, 1830, during a moderately heavy fall rain, she slipped on the cobblestones in front of the entrance and lost her footing, falling right into the arms of the Pub owner's son, Daniel Sullivan, Jr. The two hit it off immediately, and the elder Sullivan, at his son's insistence, offered her a job, and a room at the Pub. It seemed at last that her birthday luck was turning around, and she was finally being released from her tradition of tragedy.

**Old Habits Die Hard**

Moira remained at Sullivan's for the next eight years. By day, and into the early evening, she earned her living pouring drinks, mopping spills, and chatting up the bar's patrons, much as her mother and aunt had before her. In the later hours of the evening, she supplemented these duties showcasing her talents on stage. Every night, after the family men and the other more conservative patrons had gone home for the evening, Moira would stand before the heartier fellows and belt out song after song to wolf-whistles and cat-calls, not to mention an apron full of cash that she would circulate between sets. On occasion, when the price was right, just before Mr. Sullivan closed up for the evening (or morning as the case often was), Moira would consent to receiving gentlemen in her quarters for more intimate, private performances.

_Old habits die hard, _she told me._ And I was good at it. Why should I let good talents go to waste? Oh and did I mention the money? Yeah, that was a big part of it. The money was great, and not just for back then. With the scratch I made doing that, nevermind what I made downstairs, I could have eventually retired from that business, bought my own home, and still have plenty to live on. Except I kept wasting it on things like dresses and shoes, and useless little trinkets I bought 'cause they were shiny. And I'm sorry, but I __liked__ what I did. I didn't really want, or see the need, to give it up. Hell, I still don't. Only now I accept a different form of payment. __Liquid__ Assets, if you will._

Eventually, however, Moira did see a need. She continued seeing Daniel Jr., socially, and on her birthday, 1837, he proposed marriage and begged her to give up the lifestyle. She readily accepted, and agreed that she _would_ retire, at least from giving private performances. It was Daniel's intention to be married before the end of the year, but Moira wanted to wait. She said she didn't want their marriage bed to be tainted by her former career, so they agreed to postpone their marriage plans until the following year. However, old habits do indeed die hard, and though she gave up receiving visitors in her quarters for pay, Daniel was granted private exhibitions free of charge whenever she wanted. As a result, Audra and Alexandria Sullivan were born on August 16, 1838.

Another birthday passed for Moira without the pain and sorrow that had plagued her childhood, and she finally began to believe her past was truly behind her. Her future was looking brighter every day, and she hadn't even thought about The Book since laying eyes on Daniel.

**Peter and Paul**

Unbeknownst to Moira, Daniel was a habitual gambler. He was always waiting for the windfall that would change his and Moira's lives forever. With his twin daughters now to support, and his pending nuptials to Moira, his desperation to attain that windfall became increasingly desperate, and his forays to the Faro table more and more frequent. Unfortunately, the game of Faro was not one of his talents, and he found himself owing more money than he won, building up quite a bit of debt. Moira still had quite a bit of her savings, and would have gladly given him every cent, if it would have kept him out of trouble, but he never asked. He was either too proud or too ashamed to even let her know there was a problem. His solution, instead, was to continually borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Rather than relieve his troubles, this only compounded them, though it did keep Paul off his back for a time. Time was short for Daniel, though, and on December 24, 1838, Peter came to collect. Nearly two hundred years later, while waiting for my sister to awaken from a _very_ deep sleep, Angel consented to telling me the story. As in the previous chapter, I've chosen to intercept Angel's account, with Moira's own recollections. Again, for the sake of simplicity, his words are in **bold**.

_**I had gone to Sullivan's that night intending to collect on his debt, then. I knew his father owned the Pub, but for some reason I had never been inside before that night. That's when I saw her. After eleven years of searching, there she was, wearing this… slip of a dress, singing her heart out and dancing for a bunch of drunken Irishmen. Well, dancing may have been rather broad term, but you get the idea. She was smiling and flirting and collecting money like it was going out of style. It was clear that she owned the room, and I had a hard time taking my eyes off her. Her eyes flicked toward me for an instant, and I saw her give a slight jolt, like she got a sudden stomach cramp. You know, like Dru gets sometimes? She got over it pretty quick, though, and covered it up with some kind of dance move, like she was just feeling the song. She never so much as looked my way after that, almost like she was going out of her way not to. Even when she happened to be facing that way, she kept her eyes cast down on whoever was right in front of her. And even though she made her away around to every other table, she never touched a single table in the back of the room, where I was standing. She knew.**_

_Yeah, I knew. Even with that ridiculous mustache, I recognized him right away. Even if I hadn't remembered him from the sketches in The Book, which I didn't, my dreams, and that embarrassing stomach cramp would've tipped me off. I wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there, but I didn't dare risk the lives of everyone in the pub by making a scene. Not to mention Daniel, behind the bar serving drinks, his father and the girls in the kitchen, or myself. So I hid my fear as best I could and went on with the show._

_**I finally tore my eyes off her and went to speak to Daniel, who was tending bar. He saw me coming and tried to make a getaway, but there was nowhere to go. So I went to the bar to discuss our business matters. Before I could get a word out, he was setting a drink in front of me and rambling on about the holidays, scared shitless. I took the shot and reminded him that while it was generous of him to buy me a drink, we both knew he owed me quite a bit more than that. He floundered a bit, then said, "Come now, Angelus. It's Christmas. Let me buy you a round and we can talk about this. Like gentlemen." I didn't bother to point out that he'd already bought me a drink. I decided to let him pour to his heart's content, and took the opportunity to ask him about Moira.**_

_I made it a point not to look at him, but I watched him for the corner of my eye. He finally left the doorway, which made it easier to concentrate, but harder to follow him. I had to be more creative. Of course, I was. Like I said, I was good at my job. I watched him sit down at the bar and start talking to Daniel. At first I thought he was just ordering a drink, but then I realized that Daniel knew him. I couldn't imagine how they knew each other, but I had enough sense to know that whatever it was they were talking about it couldn't be good._

_I saw him start to turn towards me again, and I quickly turned my head, so he wouldn't catch me looking. Then I casually turned back, and tried to envision him as just another customer, so I could keep an eye on him without interrupting the show. I smiled sorta coyly at him, and did one of my little teaser moves, like I was trying to tempt him back to the floor. Don't ask me to describe it more than that 'cause I can't. You just kinda had to be there. Then I turned again and went back to my paying customers, on the other side of the room. When I looked back again, he was talking to Daniel again, and whatever he was saying, was making Daniel real nervous._

_**I had him so scared he wouldn't shut up. Seriously, if I could've been there as myself while Daniel was giving up the family farm to Angelus, I would've smacked the shit out of him for not keeping his fool mouth shut. But he just kept nattering on about everything. How he and Moira were getting married that week, that she used to be a prostitute, and how even after they met, she continued to do "private shows" after hours. I took it all in and logged it for future reference, a plan already forming in my mind. Somehow he managed to keep quiet about the girls, but how he did it is beyond me.**_

_Well, that's easy. I wasn't really aware of my powers at the time, but I knew I had this uncanny ability to get what I wanted from people, if I put my mind to it. This time what I wanted was for Daniel to shut the fuck up and get Angelus out of there. Instead I settled for Daniel keeping quiet about the twins. I thought, "Whatever else you do, __don't__ mention the girls, Daniel. Not one word about the girls." I just kept thinking that over and over, while I tried to keep track of things from the floor._

_Originally, I was going to try to keep the show going until Angelus left, so I wouldn't have to make up an excuse to beg off early to avoid any contact with him. But as I watched, I noticed Daniel was getting more nervous by the minute, and I realized Angelus wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I got Daniel's eye, and though I couldn't exactly read his mind, his look told me that it was time to close up shop. A voice screamed in my head. "Get the people out of here!" So I finished up my song, thanked my patrons, and bade them farewell. I said, "I'm getting married, you know. Gotta get me beauty sleep." I knew sending everyone away like that was gonna draw some suspicion from Angelus, but by then I didn't care. I didn't have time for pretenses._

_**I implied to Daniel that I would be willing to let Moira work off his debt, and let him walk away free and clear. His eyes got real wide at that, and I saw him flick his gaze to Moira. Shortly after that, she surprised me by ending the show, and sending everybody out. She surprised me again, when she followed the last of the patrons to the door, and locked it, turning the "Open" sign around to "Closed". Then she walked back behind the bar, gave Daniel a kiss, and asked him to introduce me. He did, and I waited for her to react to my name, but she never did. She was already over it.**_

_I smiled and curtsied and played the game, just like I used to on the streets of London. I refused to give any sign that anything was amiss, either to Daniel or to Angelus. Angelus was all too eager to fill me in on Daniel's little gambling problem, and the enormous debt he owed him. It was the first I'd heard of it, and it was clear Angelus was aware of that. Or at least became aware, after seeing my reaction. And it clearly gave him a happy to be the cause of strife between us._

_**I casually let her know that I knew how she used to earn her living, and that I might be willing to negotiate a trade, of sorts. Again I waited for the fear to register on her face, and again I was disappointed. I mean, I knew she was scared, but she wasn't showing it even little. She was good. I thought Cara had had that act down pat, but she couldn't have held a candle to Moira. Moira was a professional.**_

**Double or Nothing**

_So Daniel got the bright idea to play yet another game, instead of any sort of trade involving me. The stakes would be double or nothing. If Daniel won, he would owe Angelus nothing. It would be like the debt never existed. If Angelus won, he would owe Angelus twice what he already owed, to be paid immediately. It was a terrible idea. Noble, but stupid. Angelus was going to kill us both, no matter what the outcome of the game was. And let's be honest, Angelus was going to win anyway. If Daniel was any good at cards he wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. And then what? He didn't have the money, obviously. So then Angelus would just end up doing what he was going to do in the first place, and take it out of his hide. _[shrugs] _Or my ass. Really, we were just postponing the inevitable._

_**I didn't really care about the money. And I had no intention of following through on any "deal". I was playing my own game. It was all about the fear, y'know? See how far Daniel was willing to go to save his own life, what he was willing to give up. But I don't think he even realized what he was dealing with. He had no idea. Moira did, though, which is why it surprised me when she agreed to go along with Daniel's suggestion.**_

_Daniel Sr. was still in the kitchen with the girls, with apparently no idea what was goin' on out in the bar. There was nothing stoppin' him from comin' out in the middle of it all, and basically serving himself and the girls up on a silver platter for Angelus, who at the moment didn't seem to know they were there. I had to find a way to get them out and as far away as possible before they were discovered. So I smiled real big like I always did when I was performing, and said, "That's a great idea. Let's settle this like men, eh?_

_**Then she grabbed a towel and a bottle of whisky from behind the bar with one hand, then came round the bar and wrapped her other arm around my waist, led me over to one of the empty tables, and ordered Daniel to bring glasses over. **_[off my look] _**Yeah, ordered. She owned the room when she was on stage, and she still owned it off stage. It was her domain.**_

_I sat Angelus and Daniel down at one of the tables, wiped it off, poured 'em each a drink, then excused myself upstairs to "freshen up". I didn't really expect Angelus to stand for that, but I guess had him so turned upside down, grabbin' him like that, and takin' charge like I was, that he was just like "Yeah, sure, whatever". So I go upstairs, and I pulled out one of my "special" dresses I used to wear for the high rollers, threw that on, brushed my hair out and what not, then I grabbed The Book and ran down the back stairs to the kitchen where Big Dan was babysitting. I handed him The Book, and gave him all the money I had saved up and told him to take the girls away as far and as fast as he could. I said, "Take them where no one would ever find them or even think to look for them." Then I told him wherever he ended up taking them, to make sure The Book went with them. He seemed a little confused, like I'd lost my marbles, but I guess the tone of my voice convinced him I was serious, and he took the money and scooped up the girls and headed out through the back door._

_I waited 'til he was out of sight, then ran back up the stairs, past my room, and back down the main stairs to Angelus and Daniel. Angelus was as calm as a cucumber, just chillin' out like he was in complete control, but Daniel looked like he was about to piss himself, or had already. And he didn't even know what Angelus was, y'know? I mean, what did he think Angelus was gonna do? Beat the fuck out him? Waa, cry me a river. Not like that never happened to him before. Or maybe he thought Angelus was gonna do something real nasty to me, while Daniel watched. Well, boo-hoo! I was a whore, all right? It really wasn't that big of a deal, that he had to act like a giant pussy over it. Whatever it was Daniel was imagining, couldn't possibly compare to what Angelus actually had in mind. I swear, seeing him like that almost made me want to kill him myself._

_**I thought she'd been gone for quite a while, but I wasn't really worried about it. She wasn't really acting like she was gonna make a break for it, though like I said, she was a professional. I couldn't have known her mind, if I tried. So I just took her at face value, and waited 'til she came back. I figured if she did sneak out a back window or something, then I would just kill Daniel, like I was gonna do anyway, and catch up with her later.**_

_**But she finally did come back, and then I saw what took her so long. She'd changed into this bright red number. Not quite as skimpy as the other one, but it definitely showed off her, uh, assets better, if you get my meaning. It looked almost new, like she hadn't worn it very often. Or very long at a time. **_[zones out a bit] _**She'd let her hair down, so it fell in these soft curls around her shoulders... It was darker than I remembered. Not strawberry blond anymore, like her mother's, but a deep red. Fixed her make-up, too. I knew what she was trying to do. And it was working.**_

_I went back behind the bar, and got the checks- er, chips- and the deck of cards we kept back there, and brought them to Angelus to inspect. Y'know so he could see if they were marked or whatever. I waited while he looked them over, thinking they were gonna play All Fours or something like that. Then Daniel asked for the Faro layout and my jaw about hit the floor. Faro is basically like Roulette with cards. And no wheel. There's the layout- basically a tablecloth with each of the thirteen cards of a suit stuck to it- and you bet on which card's going to come up next. It's a sucker's game. Notorious for cheaters. No wonder he was in the hole so much if that's what he was playing. Moron. But then again, cheating works both ways. Maybe Daniel _could_ win. Not that it would matter, probably. But maybe it would buy us some time. Maybe Angelus would have to come up with something else and we'd be able to get away while he thought of something. Pfft! Yeah right._

_So I went and got the layout, _and I laid it out all nice. _We didn't have a shoe- that's the thing that deals the cards? You know, it's supposed to prevent cheating? _[snorts] So I thought, I'm pretty good at sleight of hand- one of my many talents- I'll just deal so Daniel wins and it still looks good. _But Angelus wouldn't hear of it. He was way too smart for that._

_**She actually thought I'd fall for the ol' "Let me deal" routine. As if she didn't have a vested interest in the outcome. I said, "No, we'll draw for it and take turns. High card deals first." Not that was I really worried about cheating. Like I said, the card game didn't really matter to me. But I didn't want to give him any kind of an edge either.**_

_So then Angelus starts shuffling the deck and I knew we were fucked. His hands were like lightening. Quick. And it was obvious he'd been doing this for a while. He knew all the tricks. He could've put the whole deck in order and we never would've been able to tell. And Daniel, well I'd seen _him_ shuffle. It was like watching Edward Scissorhands try to make balloon animals. We might as well have just given up right there. Saved us all a lot of time. But time is exactly what I wanted to give Dan Sr. plenty of. So I agreed. _[shrugs] _What else could I do?_

_I tried to retreat back behind the bar again, saying I wanted to keep the drinks coming while they played. Of course the real reason, was so I could keep as much distance between me and Angelus as possible, without abandoning Daniel. But Angelus insisted on keeping me within arm's reach. Literally. He made me sit so close to him, I was practically on his lap. Practically, hell! Most the time I _was_ on his lap. But it's not what you think. We didn't talk about the first thing that popped up. He just held me so close, that I couldn't move. Not that nothing ever popped up. I mean, my leg was __right there__, y'know, and well, old habits. But asshole though he may be, I don't think that was what he was going for. That was just, y'know, bonus. _

_**I said I wanted to keep an eye on her. Make sure she didn't try anything foolish. Plus, you know, watching him squirm like that while I had my hands all over his woman was well worth the price of admission. You know how I like a good squirm.**_

His face took on a kind of wistful look and he gave me a sort of half smile, like we were sharing an inside joke, but my glare made it clear to him that I didn't find it the least bit funny, and that if he knew what was good for him, he'd keep his editorial comments to himself and just get on with the story. I knew all too well how much he enjoyed "squirm". Angel cleared his throat and continued.

_**So then Moira dealt out the chips, making sure we both had exactly the same amount, and I shuffled the deck. I passed the cards to Daniel to cut them, then had Moira blow on the deck. Y'know, just to… uh… twist the knife a little bit. You know what I mean?**_

_Angelus took every opportunity to take another dig at Daniel's expense. Y'know, putting his hands on me, treating me like his table-bitch, calling me, "Darlin'," or "Love" or whatever. Playing the jealousy card, tryin' to throw Daniel off his game. Not that he had much game to begin with. I swear that boy couldn't play cards to save his life. _[snorts]_ Sorry._

_So you know, little by little, Angelus' pot got bigger, while Daniel's got smaller and smaller. Occasionally, Angelus would botch a deal, just to make the game last a bit longer, and give Daniel some false hope. Make him think he might have a shot after all. But still, even with Angelus' little cat-and-mouse routine, the whole thing was over in just a couple of hours, still pretty early in the night. The last deal went down, and even though I could see it coming, it was still a bit of a shock. Daniel put his copper and all his checks on one card, which meant that the winning card was now the losing card. So if his card came up on the left, instead of losing everything, he would win everything. Which would have been fine because the last card he turned up was Angelus' card, which means Angelus would've lost. But the dumbass went and dealt it in reverse putting Angelus' card on the right, which meant he still won even with Daniel reversing the bet. You understand? _[Don't worry, Dear Reader, I don't either] _I mean, what an idiot! Right? And the worst part, was that I couldn't even accuse Angelus of cheating (at least not that time), because Daniel was the dipshit that dealt it. _

_Everything went into slow-motion then. I watched the last card go down (in the wrong fucking spot), this huge shit-eating grin spreads across Angelus' face, and I saw Daniel's face just crumble as he realized his mistake. It was too late to go back and deal them right, not that it mattered. And he went as white as a sheet, and his jaw just hit the floor. For a minute, he just sat there staring at the cards like he couldn't believe it. Like if he wished hard enough, if he did believe in fairies, the cards would magically change in his favor. I had a hard time wrapping my own head around it. Not because I ever thought for a minute that he was going to win, but because I didn't know exactly what was going to happen. Y'know apart from the fact that we were both gonna die._

**Out of Time**

_**Daniel jumped out of his chair so fast he knocked it over. Moira tried to make a break for it too, but it was kinda hard since she was sitting on my lap at the time. I decided to help her out, though, and I stood up , too, taking her with me.**_

_He pulled us both up in one smooth motion, that would have been considered graceful if he hadn't knocked his own chair over in the process. He wrapped his right arm so tight around my waist that I thought sure he was gonna pop my rib-cage, as he held me flush against him. He grabbed my throat with his other hand, not quite hard enough to choke me, but hard enough that I would choke myself if I moved too much, so I stood stock still._

_**Daniel was inching his way towards the door, but froze when he got a look at the way I was holding his fiancée. I could've snapped her neck at any time, and I think he realized that. I chastised him for trying to bolt, and I said, "Daniel! You wouldn't be tryin' to run out on us, would ya? We had a deal as I recall. You wouldn't be tryin to welsh on me? Or maybe you'd prefer I took my winnings here."**_

_My dress got hiked up a little when we stood up, so my legs were completely exposed from just above the knee and he used that to his advantage, giving Daniel a kind of sneak preview of what might happen if he bailed. He moved his hands around, so his left hand wasn't around my throat anymore, and I could breathe a bit better, but in the same motion he put me in a kind of chokehold, so his elbow was jabbing into my chin, forcing my head back at this impossible angle so I was practically looking up his nose. He gripped my shoulder so hard I could feel my bones grinding together, as he forced it back against his chest, which was really an inch or two farther than it wanted to go, and I felt something pop._

_I barely had time to register __that__ pain, though, 'cause at the same time he was doing that, his other hand was scrabbling at the hem of my dress, exposing my left thigh. My shoulder popped at the same time I felt his nails digging into my bare flesh. He had long nails for a guy. And sharp. It felt like he was trying to turn my leg into a bowling ball. And succeeding._

_**He said, "Get your hands off her. Leave her out of this." Or some other George McFly sounding nonsense. I dug in a bit deeper, and said, "Or what, Daniel? What are you going to do? Besides wet yourself, that is?" He stumbled over his words a bit then, and said, "I'll get you your money. I swear it. I just need some time." I laughed at him, and began, "Time? I'm afraid time is yet another luxury-"**_

_**I couldn't take it anymore and I interrupted him. "Daniel!" I screamed at him. "Are ye daft? He's a vampire! He doesn't care about money! Get out of-" And that's as far as I got before he was flinging me across the room. I never got to see if Daniel took my advice, 'cause I was too busy with the passing out from hitting my head on the piano on the way down.**_

_**I vamped out, then, and threw Moira across the room. I watched her land head first on the piano, then slump to the floor. Daniel must've assumed she was dead, or else his own self-preservation instinct finally kicked in, because when I turned back around, the door was standing open and he was gone.**_

_**I chased him through the streets, not really in a hurry. Moira wasn't going anywhere, and I knew I could walk faster than he could run. Especially with him looking over his shoulder every five seconds. And it was still early enough in the evening that there were still people milling about here and there making it even harder for him to get away. Last minute shoppers, carolers, the whole bit. So he was moving slow enough that I could track him visually, and predict where he was going to go.**_

_**Instead chasing him overtly, I circled around and waited for him in an alley a ways ahead of him. Sure enough, I saw his shadow cross in front of me first, and I reached out and grabbed him before he ever saw me coming. I pulled him into the alley and threw him into the darkness. He looked up at me all scared and I think he really did piss himself then [Angel crinkles his nose in disgust]. He said, [mocking] "You're not human!" Like, Duh! And I said, "Not of late, no."**_

As sometimes happens when Angel recalls his glory days as Angelus, he starts to get carried away with the memory, and I have to restrain myself from interrupting him with a sharp right hook. I try to cut him some slack in light of his recent psychological trauma at the hands of The First, and let him continue without reproach. His voice took on an even more mocking tone, that positively dripped with contempt as he described Daniel's last moments.

_**He begged for his life, and pretty much offered me the key to his kingdom in exchange. I told him, "A man playing at cards should have a natural intelligence or a great deal of money and you're sadly lacking in both. So I'll take my winnings my own way." Then I hoisted him by his throat, and got ready to bite, and the coward starts like reading himself the Last Rites. Y'know, all, "The Lord is my Shepherd", blah, blah, blah. I didn't wanna hear that. It was ruining my appetite. So I interrupted him and said, "Daniel! Be of good cheer. It's Christmas." Then I killed him before he could start up again, and went back to the Pub to take care of Moira.**_

**Moira's Last Performance**

It had been my intention to include narratives from Angel as well as Moira, leading all the way up until the moment of her death, as I did when writing the piece on Cara the following summer. When speaking to Angel about this, however, and witnessing the change that often comes over him when discussing his past, I decided against it. Angel's version of events quickly became Angelus' version of events, and that, dear reader, is not a story that needs to be told. It doesn't serve Moira's interests, putting her story in print in that fashion. It doesn't serve the interests of the rest of my family, who insisted I do this, and believe me, it doesn't serve the interests of the reader. More than that, though, if I'm to be perfectly honest, hearing that version of the tale was more than even I could bear, and I've born a lot. Angelus is a terrifying beast, no doubt about it, but if you've never seen it, I can tell you that the Angel/Angelus hybrid that comes out during these tales, is far, far worse, and I had to stop him before he even got to the meat of the story. Therefore, the remainder of this chapter will be told from Moira's perspective alone.

_I was dreaming about Daniel. Not about our life together, anything fun like that. I was dreaming about his death. But it wasn't one of those dreams where you're watching everything from far away. Y'know, when you don't even have a bit part in your own dream? It wasn't one of those. I was in this one. It was like I was standing behind Angelus, watching him kill Daniel. He dropped Daniel on the ground like he was a pile of garbage. For a second, I thought it was one of those third-person dreams, but I started backing away just in case. That's when Angelus spun around and saw me. He grabbed me under the chin, and kind of , like, y'know, forced my jaw open._

_That's when I woke up, choking on some kind of lukewarm liquid behind poured down my throat. I guess Angelus decided the best way to wake me up, was to drown my sorrows on Dublin's finest whisky. My head was still a bit foggy from being forcefully introduced to the piano, so for a moment, I couldn't even fight him. All I could do was swallow it, to keep from choking. By the time I recovered enough of my senses to at least turn my head away, I'd already polished off the bottle, and I was pretty well sloshed. I couldn't even glare properly._

_Somehow I managed to rasp out something about Daniel. He put on that fake pity face of his and said something like, "I'm afraid he didn't make it." He shook his head like he gave a shit, like he wasn't the one that killed him, and goes, "Tragic." And I said, "You killed him, you bastard." He admits it of course, all proud like he just made V.P. at some big corporation, and starts grabbin' at my leg again, putting cuts and bruises on top of the ones I already had and starts goin' on about how Daniel still owed him a huge debt, and that since he was dead, that debt fell me to me as his "betrothed". He made it perfectly clear what he expected from as payment._

_I slapped his hand away, and tried to push myself away from him, but there was nowhere for me to go. I was kinda stuck in a corner between the piano, and the wall. I had no wiggle room. I told him, "I will die before I ever let you touch me." Then he gets that cocky grin of his, you know the one he gets when he knows he's in full control of the situation, and there's nothing you can do about it? Yeah, that one. And he says, "Well, you're half right. But I rather thought the dying would come later." Or something to that effect. So I spat in his face._

_He clocked me in the jaw so hard I saw stars. For a minute I couldn't do anything against him but swat at him like he was a bug. That's when he went after my dress, I think. I thought I heard something tear, anyway. But my brain __was__ kinda foggy at the time. It could have been the sound of his face tearing, when I landed a lucky slap and took a nice chunk of his skin with me._

_That just pissed him off. He grabbed my right wrist and squeezed it so hard I felt bones snap. He forced the arm back over my head and jerked it sharply to the right, breaking it at the elbow. My left arm was pinned underneath me, and I couldn't do a thing with it. I tried kicking at him with my left leg, but he caught it and pinned it under his right arm. That left me with just enough leverage to launch an attack with my right leg. He responded by grabbing the bottom of my foot and shoving I t back towards my chest, then twisting it like he did my arm, with pretty much the same results. After that, he didn't screw around, and went straight for the jugular- figuratively speaking. _

_He attacked my outfit with a renewed vengeance, shredding it clean through with his [Freddy] Krueger-esque fingernails. I tried to keep up the fight with my good leg, the one pinned under his arm, but he dug his claws into my thigh and held on. When I still didn't give up, he dragged his nails down my leg leaving deep rivers of blood running all the way down. Well, this woke up a completely different kind of hunger, and he took care of that need while getting rid of the last obstacles to his other need._

_By then it was pretty much all over but the shouting. The fight just went right out of me. Between the fifth of whisky he poured down my throat, my throbbing jaw, and my shattered or shredded limbs, I couldn't even think clearly enough to plan a counter-assault, let alone launch one. And even if I could, he'd seen to it that I had nothing left to fight with. I tried twisting this way and that, but that really did more harm than good, and I didn't really have enough leverage anyway, seeing as how I was rammed into a corner, and he'd basically turned me into a human pretzel._

_All I could really do, was close my eyes and try to find my happy place, and wait 'til he'd had his fill of me. I thought he never would. There was a moment when I thought maybe the whole thing was just a big scare tactic, and he was just gonna eat and run, but it was just wishful thinking. He had unlocked his jaw from my leg and lowered it a bit, and there was enough of a gap before he did anything else, that I thought that was it, but I guess he was just wiping his mouth or… something else. He kept his nails dug in fast, like a bear trap, so I still couldn't move, and then really got down to business. And yeah, I screamed. I don't think I ever stopped, y'know, what with the breaking, and the shredding and the clawing and the biting. Towards the end it was mostly just a lot of whimpering; it was all I had left. But somehow I managed to add a bit more oomph to my voice when he finally got down to it, though it came out pretty raspy, and almost hurt more than anything __he__ was doing._

_You know how sometimes, when you're in one of those dire situations, the most frivolous thoughts find their way into your head? I just remember thinking, "God, I'm so thirsty." I would've given my right arm for a glass of water. But since that wouldn't be forthcoming anytime soon, I just tried my best to ignore the pain everywhere else, and not do anything to irritate my throat any more. Not easy considering all the punishment I'd already taken, and he was still dishing out._

_It seemed like I was stuck in a time loop that I'd never get out of. I thought maybe I'd already died, and was just reliving the worst parts of it over and over. Then finally, it seemed about to be over, or so I thought, 'cause this time he really did go for the jugular- literally. And I thought, "Finally. He's gonna kill me once and for all, and I can be done with this nonsense." But no. He wasn't done with me yet. And it seemed like hours before he would be. I didn't realize the human body could hold that much, but apparently so. I just kept waiting for that moment when you know death is right around the corner. When you feel your heartbeat slowing down, and your head fills up with white noise, and your mind starts to drift into Nevernever Land. It's a great moment when it finally happens, especially when you're in the position I was in. But for me, it seemed like it was a long ways away._

_Then finally, I started to black out, and I thought, "Thank God". Then I felt something warm making its way down my throat, and I thought, "Great. He's tryin' to get me drunk again." But it wasn't whisky. I didn't know what it was at the time, of course, but once I got a taste of it, I couldn't get enough. I just wanted more. Then I did start to drift, and I don't know when I stopped, or when he stopped, whichever. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own bed. For a moment, I thought it had all been a dream. Until I tried to push myself up on my right arm, and I felt the searing pain shooting all the way up through my shoulder. They say vampires are supposed to heal right away? Bullshit. I mean, the superficial stuff, the cuts and the bruises, all that was gone, but broken bones are a horse of a different color. And I had a lot of them. I couldn't even get out of bed for days. He made sure that my suffering would go on even after he left me for dead._


	12. Audra and Alexandria Lex Sullivan

**Chapter Eleven**

**Audra and Alexandria "Lex" Sullivan 1838-1860**

**St. George's Chapel**

Daniel Sullivan Sr. decided that the least likely place anyone would look for the children of an Irish prostitute would be the Catholic Church, in London. When he left his home and business for the final time on Christmas Eve, 1838, he traveled south, arriving at St. George's Chapel on London Road, in January, 1839. He left the infants, Audra and Alexandria in the care of Father Thomas Doyle, with The Book, and for all intents and purposes, dropped off the face of the Earth. Despite tireless research, I have been able to find no information regarding his life or his death after leaving St. George's. Neither Angel, nor Angelus recalls having had any contact with the man. Though both have been known to lie when the situation suited them, both have been relatively honest and forthcoming as it pertains to our family. It is likely that if Daniel Sr. did cross paths with Angelus, Angelus may have been unaware of his identity. One can only assume he lived out the rest of his days without incident and died of natural causes, as an old man.

St. George's Chapel became St. George's Cathedral in 1848, and was destroyed by 'enemy action' in 1941. Though all the Church's records were destroyed along with the Cathedral itself, I have been able to determine through interviewing my Grandmother Audra and my Aunt Lex that Daniel Sr. left very specific instructions with Father Doyle regarding their care and placement. Similar to the instructions Katie had left with the Council regarding Mary and Elizabeth, Daniel Sr. insisted that Audra and Lex be informed of their true heritage as soon as was practicable to do so. As Moira had requested, he also demanded they be given their mother's diary, unopened and unread, as early as their adoptive parents deemed appropriate. This is according to Audra and Lex's adoptive mother when she gave them The Book on their thirteenth birthday.

Audra and Lex were adopted in mid-January by ardent Catholics, Robert and Amelia Witfield. Amelia had recently given birth to a daughter, Margaret Mary Witfield (known nowadays as "Drusilla"), after a complicated pregnancy, and an intensely difficult and lengthy labor. Both mother and child were nearly killed in the process, and it was advised by doctors that to attempt to have another child would be unwise. Still, they dreamed of having a large family, and they saw the arrival of Audra and Lex as a gift from God and happily took them into their home.

**That Vision Thing**

Growing up, Margaret was always uncannily aware of the world around her and frequently experienced moments that could be labeled as clairvoyance. For the most part, these instances were minor, and the family thought nothing of it, chalking it up to an over-sensitivity to sound or changing wind currents. Lex describes a few of these moments.

_You know, we'd be sitting down to dinner, and Maggie would ask if so-and-so would be staying to eat with us, a moment or two before they knocked on the door. Or we would be on our way to church and she would insist on bringing an umbrella, even though it was a clear day. There wouldn't be a cloud in the sky, not the slightest hint of rain, and somehow she would know. Sure enough, later that day it would pour buckets. It would really freak out our mum, Amelia I mean, and she would scream at her. "How do you know these things? Only God's supposed to know these things!" and on and on. I thought her head was gonna explode._

_The worst, though, was on her thirteenth birthday. April 13, 1851, this would've been. We went to the church for her confirmation, and right in the middle of it, she starts freaking out. She doubled over like she'd been punched in the stomach, and starts screaming bloody murder, like she was being tortured or something. Then she starts going off, screaming about fire. "Oh, it's so hot! It burns!" That kind of thing. And she was throwing herself on the ground like she was trying to put out an imaginary fire. And then she starts coughing like she was choking on smoke. This must have went on for like five or ten minutes. When we finally get her to calm down, she tells us Mrs. Cross, this lady that used to baby-sit us, was burning up in her house. She'd been ill for a while, so she hadn't come to the confirmation. And Maggie said, "Her house is on fire! She's all by herself! We have to save her!" And just keeps going on like that. So we finally decided to go over there, and her house was just covered with flames. There was nothing we could do at that point. We were too late to save Mrs. Cross or her house._

_Well, our mum just lost it. She starts screaming at Maggie like she caused it or something. Said she must be in league with the Devil, and things like that. We finally get home, and she takes Maggie upstairs and just beats the crap out of her. Or at least that's what Maggie told us, and she had the bruises to prove it. She didn't leave her room for like a week after that. Well, she was grounded, but the vision took a lot out of her. I mean, it was freaky, y'know? She told us later that it felt like she was there. Like she __was__ Mrs. Cross, burning alive. She could smell the smoke. And it left her feeling sick all over, and she had the most terrible migraine that she didn't really wanna leave her room anyway, even her crazy mother hadn't told her to stay there to pray for forgiveness._

Robert Witfield had a different take on Margaret's visions. Whereas Amelia saw them as a curse from the Devil, Robert saw them as a blessing from God. Amelia was often quoted as saying, "Only God's supposed to see things before they happen," so if Margaret was seeing things, it must be the Devil's handiwork. Robert was more of the mindset that perhaps God wanted her to see things, as in the case of John the Baptist, and that if this was His plan, who were we to argue? Audra explains this viewpoint more fully.

_He used to tell us stories from the Bible about Elijah and Ezekiel, and John the Apostle, and I can't even remember what all, but he said they all had the Sight in one form or another. That's what he called it. And he said that these were good men, so their gift couldn't have come from the Devil, like our mum thought about Maggie. And he said his grandmother, whom Maggie was named for, she had it too, and she had "the purest, kindest soul you'll ever meet". So we asked him why he didn't stand up to Amelia, and tell her what he thought. He said, "Are you joking? You don't argue with a woman like that. She's crazy!"_

Robert shared this insight with Audra and Lex alone. He kowtowed to Amelia's distorted beliefs, and neither she nor Margaret ever knew how he really felt. Margaret quickly learned to keep her visions to herself, and after a time it was assumed that whatever "demon" had cursed her with these visions had taken its leave. It wasn't long before Amelia forgot all about the Cross fire incident. Audra and Lex never forgot, however, so it came as no surprise to them when Margaret had another one of her debilitating visions on their thirteenth birthday four and a half months later. Lex explains.

_We had just finished dinner, and blew out the candles on our birthday cake. Hadn't even cut it yet. Mum comes out with this package, all wrapped up pretty with ribbons and tissue paper, and the like. We opened it up, and of course, it's The Book. She tells us this story of how our real mom wanted us to have it, and how they never opened it, and were saving it "all these years for this special day." We hadn't even looked inside yet; we were just kinda checkin' out the cover, and Maggie's like, "Ooh, can I see?" And of course Mum yelled at her, 'cause we didn't even have a chance to look at it yet. But we're like, "No, it's okay. Of course you can see it." We told Maggie. And I hand it over to her, and she barely lays a hand on it, then jerks her hand back, and starts grabbing her stomach like she just got the period cramps from Hell. And she gets real pale like she'd just seen a ghost or something. I swear I thought she was gonna vomit right there on the table. Then she mumbles something about too much cake, which she hadn't even had yet, and excuses herself to her room._

_We didn't know what to say. We just kinda looked at each other for a minute, Audra and me, and we both looked at Robert. We were just at a loss for what to do. We all had a pretty good idea what had happened, but our mum was still blissfully ignorant, and we wanted to keep her that way. If she thought for a second that Maggie'd had another vision, she'd've flipped. Like she could control it or something. So I said, "Must just be all the excitement." Y'know, 'cause we did have kind of a long day, y'know, with our confirmation, then the party afterward, and all that. So then Audra's like, "Why don't I go check on her, make sure she's all right." And I'm like, "Oh. I'll go with you." And I scooped up The Book, we said our thanks, and went up to Maggie's room._

_We knocked on her door and let ourselves in, and found her sitting on her bed all curled up like. All the color had gone out of her, she was sweating and shivering all at the same time. And she was just sorta staring into space, and rocking back and forth. We shut the door and I'm like "What happened?" And Audra goes, "You had a vision, didn't you?" And I'm like, "What did you see?" Y'know, we were just firing questions at her. So Maggie says, "Evil." And we're like, "Well, what do you mean? The Book's evil? How can that be? It's just a book." And we sit down on the bed, and Audra starts flipping through it. And Maggie's like, "No. A man." And I'm like, "A man. What man?" Y'know 'cause she wasn't making much sense, and she had that dreamy voice of hers. Y'know the one that sounds like she's not all there? And she goes on like I hadn't even said anything. She says, "But he's not really a man… His face…" Then she touches her forehead and kinda scrunches up her face, I guess doing her impression of a vampire, which I hadn't even heard of such things back then. We had pretty sheltered lives. So I didn't really understand what she was saying. Then she says, "He's coming for you. You have to leave. Before he finds you."_

_Then Audra pulls out this sketch. I know now that it was Angelus. I think it was one of Mary's. And she says, "Is this who you saw?" And her eyes got all big and she just nods, and she says, "He's going to find you. You have to leave while you still can. Before it's too late." And I'm just like, "Whoa" _[makes jazz hands]_. I didn't know what to think. Y'know? So, then Audra's like, "He's not going to find us. He doesn't even know where we are. He's got no reason to even look for us here. He doesn't know our names, he probably doesn't even know we exist." Maggie just shakes her head, and says, "He knows. He always knows."_

_Well, for my money, I was scared shitless. I hadn't so much as opened the damn Book, so I didn't know the pattern. But I knew Maggie was never wrong. Whether it was something big or something small. She was __never ever __wrong. So I looked at Audra like, "What do we do?" 'Cause I didn't wanna leave. This was my home. Where would we go? And she says, "All right. We'll go. But you're coming with us. We're not leaving you here with her." Meaning Amelia, 'cause y'know she was… [twirls her fingers around her head]… Coo-koo! The woman was nuts! Right? I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying she was necessarily a bad mother. Y'know, she meant well. She just had some really strange ideas. And she was really hard on Maggie for some reason. Never did find out why. I know Angelus likes to take credit for making Maggie crazy, but to be honest, between the visions, and her loopy mother, she really didn't have that far to go. So neither one of us was really comfortable with the idea of leaving Maggie alone with her. We knew Robert wasn't going to be any help. But for whatever reason, Maggie didn't wanna leave. So we stayed, too._

**Role Reversal**

In the Summer of 1852 Amelia became afflicted with some sort of psychosis. Her symptoms included frequent violent outbursts, such as screaming obscenities, throwing things, physically striking out at anyone and everyone. She quickly became a danger to herself and others. Today, her illness likely could be treated with some kind of pill, but in those days, treatment options were limited and the Witfields' only option was the complete removal from society. Amelia had to be restrained in her bed, her children sharing in the responsibility for her care, and the household chores that Amelia herself could no longer attend to. Audra became the mother of the house, taking care of the cooking and the cleaning, while Lex and Margaret took on the arduous task of tending to Amelia. As Lex explains:

_It really was a two person job. One of us had to hold her down, while the other one shoveled food into her, or bathed her, or whatever had to be done to her. Usually, I was the one holding her down, 'cause I was little bit stronger than Maggie. But it was hard on both of us. Most days, it was like she didn't even remember who we were. When she did remember, she remembered the Cross fire, or rather she remembered Maggie's vision about the Cross fire. She would scream at her, and call her things like "Spawn of Satan", "Devil Child", just… horrible, __horrible __things. There were days I thought Maggie wasn't gonna be able to cope. I told her, "Honey, go take a break. I'll handle this." But she refused to leave her mother's side, except when she finally wore herself out fighting with us and fell asleep. She would only say, "Lex, she's my mum. I can't leave her."_

Meanwhile, as previously stated, Audra took care of the house. She prepared the meals, did the washing up, took care of the laundry. She did everything Amelia had done before she fell ill, all the while doing what she could to comfort Robert. Audra elaborates.

_He had it in his head that it was somehow his fault. If he'd only done this or that differently. Or if he hadn't said this thing or that thing. I tried to tell him that sometimes these things just happen, y'know? God's plan or whatever. But he wouldn't hear of it. He said that if that was God's plan, then God could go fuck himself. I'm paraphrasing, of course. He just kept insisting there was something more he could've done and she wouldn't have gotten sick. So I just did the best I could, trying to keep things as normal as possible, y'know? Serving his favorite foods, making his drinks. He drank a lot in those days. I don't blame him. I would've given my right arm for a good, stiff drink, but I had too much to do._

**Secrets and Lies**

Amelia's condition persisted for nearly two years. During that time, Audra and Robert were alone more often than not. Lex and Margaret spent nearly all their time upstairs with Amelia. When they weren't actively involved in her care, they took the opportunity for some much needed rest. They rarely took the time to eat more than a single sandwich between them, and Robert and Audra seldom saw them for more than a few minutes at a time. As often happens in these situations, Robert and Audra began to grow quite close, too close some might argue. Audra explains.

_We were all each other had, y'know? Looking after our mum was a twenty-four seven job. It kept Maggie and Lex pretty busy. And we hardly ever left the house, unless we absolutely had to. It was just easier to stay home, than to deal with all the questions. "How come we never see you at church?" "Where's Amelia?" "Why aren't the girls with you?' Y'know? So we just kept to ourselves. And you can judge me if you like, but when you're in that situation, for months on end, like we were, sometimes stuff happens. So… stuff happened. I don't regret it. It's not like he was my real dad, y'know._

_The official story, for anyone who asked, was that our mum was pregnant, and on doctor ordered bed-rest, and that us girls were staying home to take care of her. The true story was that Mum had had a complete mental breakdown, I was pregnant with Robert's child, and Maggie and Lex were taking care of all three of us._

Eve and Colleen Witfield were born at home, with no medical intervention, on January 12, 1854. Not long after that, just before Margaret's sixteenth birthday, Amelia came out of her psychosis just as mysteriously as she had gone in. Now the family faced a new crisis. How does the husband of a devout Catholic break the news to his wife, that while she was in the throes of insanity, he was "having relations" with their adoptive daughter, who was now the proud mother of twins?

The answer is simple. You don't. You take advantage of the woman's fragile mental state, and tell her that it was hormones caused by pregnancy, that triggered her illness, and now that those hormones had dissipated, so had her psychosis. Nevermind the fact that the teenagers in the house had clearly aged more than the mere year or so that was claimed to have passed. That's just because everyone's been so worried. Forget the fact that the babies in question were already four months old. It just took that long for your system to heal itself. At least, that was the story Amelia was told, and if she thought for a moment that it wasn't true, she didn't let on. Thus, Eve and Colleen were raised, until age six anyway, knowing full well who their mother really was, but pretending that it was Amelia who had birthed them.

**Unclear and Present Danger**

There has been a pattern in my family, dating all the way back to 1767, when Hannah died. It has continued on to this day, the only exception being my mother, whom I'll discuss later. The cycle has been thus. One twin dies, the next generation of twins is born, and at some point after that, the other twin finds her end. If it happens that both twins survive through the birth of the subsequent generation, as in the case of Mary and Elizabeth, or Brigid and Cara, then both twins become fair game, and either or both could go at any time. Audra and Lex were aware of this pattern, as they had studied The Book whenever they could find a spare moment. They didn't have much time to actively think on it, however, what with tending to Amelia, making sure she didn't learn the truth about Audra and Robert, and now with Eve and Colleen to look after, though it was always at the back of their minds. The fear was always there.

The visions that run in my family exist for two reasons. In earlier generations, as with Audra and Lex, for example, the purpose was to keep us safe long enough to secure the next generation. In latter generations, as in the case of my sister and I, the purpose was also to protect the Slayer and her kin, and to help she and Angel follow the path destiny had chosen for them. In Audra and Lex's case, however, these visions came late, and were far too vague to be of any assistance. Audra explains.

_They were just flashes, y'know? Images. A face, a church, a busy town square. Nothing useful. Sometimes it was just this… overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. But I couldn't put my finger on it. Like when you think you've left the iron on or something. I guess the Powers That Be didn't think we needed three psychics in one house. So I always just relied on Maggie's visions._

Unfortunately, Margaret's visions were few and far between, and often came too late to do any good. Additionally, she was generally reluctant to share them, given her mother's reaction to them, and became quite good at hiding when she had them. As she was their only means of detecting Angelus, Audra and Lex had to become hyperaware of Margaret's demeanor and behavior, to ascertain when she had had a vision, so they could corner her later to find out what it was. They would spend the next six years developing this skill. Most times, the vision in question would be disappointing, at least with regards to Angelus. According to Lex,

_The girls would be playing in the next room, and Maggie would stiffen up suddenly, and run in there just in time to stop Eve from swallowing a button. Or we'd all be out in the back yard, and they'd be climbing our Maple tree, and Maggie'd be like, "That branch is gonna break," a split second before it did. And she wouldn't even be facing them at the time. Then she'd run over just in time to catch Colleen as she fell._

While these visions did prove useful over the years, it wasn't what Audra and Lex were looking for, and they began to think that just maybe their family's cycle of death had finally been broken. In January 1860, however, this proved not to be the case. Lex remembers.

_We'd left the girls with a babysitter and had gone out, the five of us, to go shopping for their birthday. We were walking along, Audra and me just slightly ahead of Maggie, and I sensed her stiffen up like she does sometimes, when she has a vision. I turn around to look and she's looking around the other way, just staring at this couple a little ways away. Maggie was blocking my view so I couldn't see __him__, but I saw __her__. It was Darla. I recognized her from the sketches in The Book. I asked Maggie what was the matter, but she didn't answer at first. She just turned and started shepherding us away. We both tried to turn around to look, but she kept a hold of us so I couldn't. I guess so that Angelus wouldn't see us, and recognize us. When we got far enough away, she finally whispers, "He's here."_

_We half considered leaving that night, Audra and me, but like I said, we weren't gonna leave without Maggie, and Maggie for some reason didn't wanna leave her mother. And it was a little more complicated now we had the girls. Running away wouldn't be quite so easy with a couple of six-year-old identical twins; we'd've stood out like sore thumbs. Plus, there was that whole thing where they were supposed to be our adopted sisters. No way was Amelia gonna let us leave with them. And we weren't about to leave them behind. So, once again, we stayed._

_The following Monday, Maggie had the vision from Hell. It was completely unrelated to Angelus, but it ultimately led him right to us. She was in the parlor playing with the twins. Audra and me were in the kitchen cleaning up breakfast, and all of the sudden she just starts screaming bloody murder. We knew it had to be a real doozie, 'cause she'd always been so good covering them up. So we all go running in there, the whole family, and there she is all curled up in the fetal position, holding her stomach like she'd been stabbed. And we're like, "What is it? What's wrong?" And it must've still had a hold on her, 'cause without even thinking, she starts spoutin' off in front of her mum and everyone. "The mine! It's going to crash! I saw it! Just like with Mrs. Cross. We have to warn them!" Then her mum slaps her right across the face and hoists her up by her shoulders and starts shoutin' at her. "You will do no such thing! You hear me? There isn't going to be any crash. You're hallucinating. It doesn't mean anything!"_

_But the next day, sure enough, there was a cave-in, and two men died. Mum starts freakin' out again, like she did when Mrs. Cross died. She starts blaming Maggie, saying she caused it, she's cursed by the devil, yada, yada, yada. And she insists that Maggie go and Confess, even though we had just been to Mass two days ago, and we always did Confession afterwards. But she went anyway, just to make her mother happy. Audra and me went with her, and something in the air, there, just didn't feel right. Like something was very, very wrong. But we couldn't place it, neither of us. We went on ahead anyway, though, 'cause we figured if Maggie hadn't picked up on it, then it was probably okay. But when she came out, she was even more upset than went she went in. Said the Priest had said she was a spawn of Satan, and that God meant for her to be evil, and that she should just give into it._

Appalled that any Priest would ever say such a thing to one of his flock, Audra and Lex, after taking Margaret home, went back to the Church to confront the Priest. They found him in the Confessional, dead. His throat had been ripped out, and his blood drained. Police at the time concluded that it was a wild animal attack, and never launched an investigation.

**Bloody Valentine**

After discovering the body of the Priest, Audra and Lex returned home to break the news. Amelia immediately placed the blame on Margaret, saying that it was her curse that brought death to Father Murphy. Margaret was then confined to her room, which was fine by her, as she was afraid to leave anyway. A month later, Amelia finally conceded that Margaret was likely not to blame for the Father's death, and released her from her confinement. Still, Margaret refused to come out except for meal times, when her parents insisted on it, though she would scarcely nibble at what was on her plate.

By Valentine's Day, Robert had finally had enough. After they finished yet another meal of which Margaret would barely pick at, he headed out into the brisk night air, determined to bring something home that would cheer up his daughter, before the stores closed. Hours later, when he still hadn't returned home, the family began to worry. They agreed to contact the Police, but when Amelia opened the door to go out, the rest of the family close behind her, she all but tripped on the mutilated body of her husband. As with the Priest, his throat had been ripped open, his body mysteriously drained of its blood. A single red rose lay across his chest, with a handwritten note addressed to "Dearest Margaret". The inscription of the other side read, " Deus est vigilo vos.." Audra explains.

_Loosely translated it means, "God is watching you." Those were the exact words Margaret said the Priest had spoken to her as she left the confessional. We'd suspected before, but now we knew that it was Angelus she had spoken to, not the Priest. This was his way of telling her so. It was also a warning that he knew where she lived, and would eventually be coming for her._

Again, the possibility of leaving was discussed, and again it was denied. This time, however, Margaret agreed that it was the best course of action, though she was loath to leave her mother. She thought that if she left, perhaps Amelia could avoid a similar fate to Robert and the Priest. Audra explains their plan.

_As you can imagine, Amelia completely lost her water. We all did, but she had to be put on tranquilizers, just to get through the funeral and stuff. Her brother, Edward, came to help with the arrangements, and stayed afterwards to help out. He was upstairs trying to console her, and waiting for the tranquilizers to kick in so she would sleep. We thought that would be the perfect chance to get out with the twins, so we packed a couple bags, bundled up the girls, and headed for the door. We'd almost made it, __would've__ made it, but Eve had forgotten her favorite doll, and wouldn't leave without it. She insisted on going back for it, screaming the whole way, "Not without Miss Edith! I can't leave Miss Edith!" Yeah, that Miss Edith. I don't know how Maggie ended up with it. But anyway, Uncle Ed comes out, of course, to see what the fuss was about, and sees us all bundled up and carrying overnight bags. He gave us the beating of our lives for trying to run off like that, and stealing the children to boot. He said, "You want to abandon your mother in her time of need, like a bunch of heartless tramps, you go ahead, but I'll kill you myself before I let you take those girls." So that was the end of that. _[shrugs]_ We had to stay._

**Two Birds, One Stone**

The next morning, while the family was pretending to enjoy breakfast, they were interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. It was the Police. At some point during the night, someone had dug up Robert's grave, and stolen the body. Later that night, there was another knock at the door, and further tragedy unfolded. Audra pieces together what happened.

_Well, I was asleep upstairs, and woke up when I heard the knock, but I didn't get out of bed right away. I just listened. I heard Uncle Edward go down to answer it. (I recognized his footsteps.) He said something to whoever it was on the step; I didn't hear what. Then I heard Amelia pass by my room, not really hurrying, but not really lingering either. I heard her call out softly from the top of the stairs, "Edward? What is it?" There was a couple of beats, then I heard her scream, "Robert!" Then I heard her running down the steps._

_I bolted out of bed and ran out of my room. Maggie was already ahead of me, going after her mother. Lex came out just behind me. I got midway down the stairs, and saw Amelia running out the door in her nightgown and bare feet, calling Robert's name. Maggie was halfway between the stairs and the door. She was pulling at her hair and screaming, "Mother! No!" I ran the rest of the way down the stairs and got within view of the door just in time to see, Uncle Edward and Robert turn around near the gate. Robert vamped out and tore Edward's throat out. Amelia stopped in the middle of the walk and cried, "No!" then tried to turn and run back into the house. But at the same time, Angelus jumped out of the shadows and grabbed her around the throat, cutting her off and spun around to face us._

_By this time, Lex had made it down, also. We were both standing behind Maggie when he turned around, and he got a real good look at us. Then he broke into this huge evil grin, and I knew he recognized us. He said, "Well. Isn't this a nice surprise? I wasn't expecting to kill two birds with one stone. This'll be even more delicious than killing your mother." As he said this, he ran his nails down Amelia's cheek with his free hand, then punctuated the statement by licking up the blood. He could easily have been referring to her, but he was looking right at Lex and me when he said it. I knew he meant our real mother._

_So did Lex. She broke ranks and ran out after him, screaming, "Bastard!" But before she could reach him, he snapped Amelia's neck and threw her aside like garbage, in a single motion. And I'm like, "Lex, no!" And I ran out, too, but I was too late. He was way too fast. He already had a hold of Lex before Amelia even hit the ground. I barely made it two steps out the door before he got his teeth in her and drank her dry, or so I thought at the time. I almost lost it then, but somehow I managed to force myself to turn back and run towards the house. Maggie had started to follow Lex and me, but stopped before she crossed the threshold. I screamed at her to run, praying as hard as I could for her to protect the girls, before he found out about them. I reached the doorway just in time to push her away from it, but not soon enough to save myself. He grabbed the back of my nightgown, stopping me from crossing. He hit me with enough force to knock me forward, and had the added effect of causing me to push Maggie the last bit away from the door, so that he couldn't possibly reach her._

_I went down hard, screaming at Maggie the whole way down to run, and keep running. I sounded like that chick from Forrest Gump. "Run, Forrest, Run!" All the wind went out of me when I hit the ground, and I'm pretty sure I broke a rib or two. I saw Maggie disappear around the corner, then felt Angelus land on top of me, full force. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks, literally, and something definitely cracked then. I don't know if it was me, or the walkway, but it hurt like Hell and I couldn't do a thing about it. I couldn't even scream. And I don't know if he tripped, or if he did it on purpose, but either way, he capitalized on it. I felt him sink his teeth into my shoulder, into the tendons, and I heard the tearing of my own flesh, and the sound of him drinking my life away. That was the last thing I remember before passing out._


	13. Twin Captives

**Chapter Twelve**

**Twin Captives**

**Angelus' Game**

Though both Audra and Lex expected to die that night, neither of them did. They both describe waking up naked, in pitch blackness, bound and gagged, on a damp earthen floor. Lex posits that it was perhaps an abandoned mine of some sort. Audra says it felt like she was in some kind of catacombs. Neither can say for sure, however, given the total blackness in which they found themselves, and only Lex can state with any certainty that they were even being held in the same general location, as she recalls waking up to the sound of Audra screaming. Both were considerably traumatized by the experience, and even in death are often plagued by horrifying flashbacks of their captivity. To this day, neither can set foot anywhere that might be considered dark and dank, without experiencing unbearable claustrophobia, and an overwhelming feeling of dread.

Neither was particularly overjoyed at the prospect of reliving any part of the experience, even for the purpose of this essay, which they, like the rest of the family, agreed should be written. It was suggested by both of them that I go to Angel for the story, since I appeared to be, in Audra's words, "so buddy-buddy" with him. I reminded them that I, too, had suffered extensively at Angelus' hands, and was only staying in his house because of my sister's unhealthy attachment to him. I showed them my own numerous and varied scars that I had purposely kept as reminders, to myself and Angel, of the cruelty he had inflicted on me when I was held captive at the Factory. Most notably of these horrendous scars, is the one running the entire length of my right calf, where Angelus had taken a sledgehammer to it, and both my tibia and fibula had to be replaced with metal rods.

Audra said that I had brought it on myself (which I may have), that I had "signed up for it" (which could also be true), and still flat out refused to say another word about her ordeal after passing out on her front stoop, save for describing what she could of the area in which she was held. Lex, however, was a bit more understanding, and after viewing the footage of some of my previous interviews with Angel regarding his misdeeds, finally agreed to meet me later, at an outdoor café in London, to relay what she could of her last days as a human.

_Well, like I said, the first thing I was aware of was Audra screaming in the distance somewhere, echoing off the walls. I couldn't even imagine what he might have been doing to her, but it must have been horrible. She still won't even talk to __me__ about it. As for me, I was propped up in a corner of some kind. When I came to, I was sitting upright, leaning against a stone wall. I sensed more than felt a wall on the other side of me. I couldn't reach out to be sure, because my hands were tied tightly behind my back. My feet had been drawn up behind me and tied together at the ankles, which were also quite attached to my wrists. That was painful enough by itself. My legs were all tingly from sitting on them for God knows how long. I wanted to adjust myself to relieve some of the pain and pressure, but I didn't dare. I was afraid that if I moved even a little, I would fall over, and sitting up was definitely better laying down._

_And it was so dark. You wanna know how dark? Lock yourself in your room, black out all the windows, turn out the lights, squeeze your eyes shut as tight as you can, put a burlap sack over your head, then wrap it all over with duct tape. That still won't compare to how dark it really was. At first, I wasn't even sure if my eyes were open or closed. I might have been blind, for all I knew. I could hear water dripping somewhere, and that's what makes me think it was some kind of underground tunnel system. Like a mine. And I thought I heard bats fluttering about overhead, but that could've been my own paranoia._

_I wanted to scream, but I couldn't because I was gagged so hard that I could feel the fabric cutting into the sides of my mouth, and it felt like my tongue was being forced down my throat. I tried to wiggle it loose with my jaw, but all I ended up doing was making myself choke. I almost threw up in my mouth, and that would __not__ have been good. So I finally gave up on putting up any kind of a struggle, for fear of making matters worse, and just kinda sat there, waiting._

_I couldn't see the entrance to the cave, for lack of a better word, if there even was one. There was no way for me to tell which direction Angelus would be coming from. I never even knew he was coming until he was right on top of me. Literally and figuratively. I never heard him approach, and he never said a word until he was close enough to whisper in my ear. By then, though, he generally already had his hands on me. Really, he hardly spoke at all._

I found this odd, because it has been my experience, and the experience of others I have spoken to, or read about, that he rarely shuts up. It's never simply about physical pain. Psychological torment is equally important to, if not more so, than inflicting any real physiological damage. On the other hand, while Angelus is known for meting out said torment through his mastery of the English language, he is always on the look-out for new and interesting ways to destroy someone's psyche. Even the methods he uses for physical torture are designed for the purpose of burning the experience into his victim, destroying as much of their sanity as he can, before finally giving them over to Death. Unpredictability, humiliation, stretching the truth, or outright lying, are all means he has used to reach his desired end. His near silent treatment of Lex, coupled with the suffocating blackness in which he kept her, are just further examples of the range of his repertoire.

Lex went on to say she wasn't bothered much by his economy of words, as he had said all that he needed to the first time he approached her. Anything he said after that, was merely his way of digging the knife a little deeper.

_He said we were going to play a game. By that he meant that __he__ was going to play, and __I__ was the game. The object was to see if he could get me to scream loud enough, through my gag, to be heard by Audra, wherever he was keeping her. But there was a catch. If, when he saw her again, she gave any indication that she'd heard me, or knew I was alive, then he would kill her. He said it would be very slow, and very painful, and would far outweigh anything he was going to do me. And he made it clear that my punishment, if I gave myself away, would be so horrific that even he had yet to conceive of it. He assured me it would be unbearable. But if, by some miracle, I managed to keep my survival a secret until I was dead for real, then he would set Audra free._

This is a game I am quite familiar with. It is one of Angelus' favorites. I call it, "Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't." It is the same game he played with Hannah, and to a lesser extent, with Moira. Rupert Giles has played a version of it, and I still bear the evidence of my own participation. It is played a bit differently with each participant, but the basic rules are always the same. If you scream, or if you fight him, then you will be punished. If you don't scream, if you somehow manage to sit quietly, and take whatever her gives you, then you will be punished more. In most cases, you don't even know exactly which one he wants. Scream loud enough, and he'll do whatever he can to make it so you can't, or are afraid to. Remain silent long enough, and he'll give you a good reason to break that silence. He'll see to it that you can't help it. It is a game that can never be won, and is usually only ended when Angelus becomes bored and decides to kill you.

When Angelus told Lex that if she died without revealing herself to Audra, Audra would be released, what he didn't say was that he would let her live. Nor did he guarantee survival when he offered Lex her own chance at freedom.

_If I was real good, he said I could go, too. I didn't really understand what he meant at the time. He'd already made it clear that I had to die, before he'd let Audra go, so it didn't make much sense to me that I'd be released, too. I figured he was probably full of shit anyway. I didn't believe he had any intention of letting either of us go, no matter what I did. What I did believe was that Audra would be severely punished if I messed up. I didn't want to die thinking that I was responsible for her suffering. I already felt responsible, as it was, for our being there in the first place. If I hadn't run out like I did, we would both be fine. Well, okay, we'd be dead, __now__, but we never would've been in that cave, or whatever it was._

_So I played the game. I did whatever I could to keep him interested in me, so he wouldn't bother with her. Maybe she'd find a way to escape, I thought. At the very least, as long as Angelus was busy with me, she'd be safe… er. And, you know, maybe he really would let her go, if I died before she found out about me. I tried to make that happen as quickly as possible. I didn't fight him, not that I could, and I kept my mouth shut. Even when it was as bad as I thought it could possibly get, I held it in. He wasn't gonna get so much as a peep out of me. No sir. Okay, well, maybe a peep. But for anyone else to hear that peep, they would've had to be right on top of us._

_But regardless of what he may have said, it didn't take me long to figure out that he actually wanted the opposite. He wanted me to scream. He wanted me to put up a fight. And after a while I could tell he was starting to get pissed off that I wasn't making more of a fuss. So naturally, he tried a little harder, and a little harder. But I still wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Of course, in all fairness, I __was__ gagged. Kinda hard to scream when you got a thick piece of fabric stuffed in your mouth. Plus it gave me something to bite on, something else to focus on besides the pain. Well, he figured that out pretty quick. He said he was making it too easy for me. So he took it off. Then he really went to town._

_I thought I was gonna die. I didn't think I could possibly take any more. But he had plenty more to give. And I cried. I whimpered a little bit. But I didn't scream. I clenched my mouth shut, and I bit the insides of mouth so hard I ended up drinking my own blood, and almost choked on it. But that's all. I wasn't going to give him any more than that. I tell ya, you never know just how much concentration you really have until someone does to you what he did to me, and tells you that someone you care about will suffer for it if you cry out. At one point, it got so bad, that I guess I must have passed out. Not that that's really surprising. I mean, I had blood pouring out of places I didn't know I had. I was exhausted. He had run me ragged, just trying to get more of a rise out of me._

**Game Over**

Though she appears to have moved pass the experience, as Lex relives her time in captivity for posterity, she begins to exhibit mild signs of anxiety that could be related to post traumatic stress. The farther we go down Memory Lane, the more pronounced these symptoms become. She avoids eye contact, and for the most part seems to be focusing on some distant point in the cosmos. There are long moments when she doesn't say anything at all, apparently locked inside her own memories. The first time this happens, I tap her on the shoulder to remind her of where she is. This is met with a rather violent reaction from Lex, and a shout of, "Don't touch me!", drawing more than a few curious and concerned glances from passersby and fellow Apostrophe patrons. Thereafter, I opt to settle for snapping my fingers in front of her face, in lieu of causing another spectacle. For continuity's sake, I've omitted these pauses from the transcripts.

When she isn't consumed by flashbacks, she displays more outward signs of her distress. She hugs her arms close to her body, as if she were trying to impersonate a turtle retreated inside its shell. During the more traumatic parts of her story, I find her nervously scratching her arms, picking at wounds that only exist in her mind. For the milder parts of the tale, she expresses her anxiety through nail-biting, hair-pulling, and continually stirring the coffee she has yet to drink, or add any condiments to. As she leads me through the darkest recesses of her past, her oratory becomes filled these nervous ticks, and I felt it necessary to relay some of these before continuing on with her narration.

_I guess that's when he left me. I hope Audra didn't suffer too badly for that. Hell, for all I know, that's when he killed her. I don't know, and she won't say. But I know he must have left, 'cause I woke up to a shower of hot coals. Not just one or two, or even a handful, but a whole bleedin' bucket. I almost did scream, then. I don't know if you've ever had hot coals poured on your bare flesh __(I have)__, but it is the absolute worst. I can't think of a worse pain, that's not gonna kill you right away. And to be woken up that way, from a dead sleep, is even worse. My eyes popped open, and I could feel a scream bubbling up in my throat. That was the first time I saw his face, after waking up there the first time. The glow from the coals lit up his face like a Christmas tree. To this day, I have never seen anything so evil, and so gleeful about it. It was like he knew he had won. That there was no way that I could keep quiet after that. But I did._

_I drew in a breath to scream, then came to my senses just in time to hold it in. I squeezed my eyes shut, and bit my tongue, hard, and I thrashed around quite a bit. Banged my head on the wall a couple times. But I didn't scream. Even when he started picking up the coals with one of those grabby things- you know what I'm talking about, right? Those fork lookin' things for picking up hot shit?- and he started pressing them into me, one at a time. Here, there… __everyw__here. Oh, God, it hurt. I had tears and sweat just streaming down my face, and mixing together, running in to the cuts on my face, and __that__ hurt. You would think that when your flesh was already searing like that, you wouldn't notice a little salt in your wounds. But I did. I felt __everything__. Every bruise, every scratch. Every everything. And he's ambidextrous, y'know. Even while he was directing the coal with one hand, he had no problem doing something far more sinister with the other hand. If you can believe that._

_But I still didn't give him quite what he wanted. I put on quite a show for him, I'm sure, but it wasn't a musical number. That done it. He'd finally had enough of me. He stood up and said that if I didn't wanna play, he would just see if my sister wanted to "have a go." And then he started to leave. At first, I was relieved, 'cause I didn't really register what he'd said. I just heard "go". Then I realized, and knew I had to stop him. I didn't know how, but I had to do something to convince him to stay. I couldn't let him hurt Audra the way he hurt me, assuming he hadn't already. So I begged him to wait. I said, "Don't leave me. Please. I don't wanna be alone." Well, that took him aback a little bit, I think. I couldn't see his face anymore; the coals weren't giving off any more light. But I could hear him shuffling his feet like he was considering. I said, "I'll do whatever you want. Just, please, don't leave me here." And for the longest time, he didn't say a word. He just stood there. Or I guess he was standing there. Y'know, I couldn't see him, so for all I know he could've been picking his nose. But my point is, he wasn't leaving, and he wasn't coming back, either. He just stayed where he was._

_Finally, I heard him coming back towards me. He stopped maybe a foot in front of me. Then he grabbed me by the side of my head, and I tried not to flinch, but I couldn't see what he was doing, and I couldn't help it. And for once, it seemed like he wasn't even trying to hurt me. He just kinda cupped my face in his hand. It was weird. I didn't know what to make of it. Then he said, "Maybe I should just let you go, hm?" I didn't know what he was playing at, but I knew it was too good to be true. He wasn't gonna let me go. He was just testing me to see how I'd react. Or maybe it was just another part of the game. I don't know. I went for reverse psychology. I said, "Let me go? Where? It's not as if I have a family to go home to. You killed them all." Then he grinned that creepy little grin of his, y'know that faux magnanimous one, and he says, "Not all. You still have a sister." Then I got right up in his face, which wasn't easy considering the way I was still tied up, and I said, "Audra's dead. I know she is. Probably been dead for days." I didn't know if that was true, or not. [shrugs] It seemed reasonable. But apparently I got to him. He took his hand away and I could sense him back up a little a bit, and he was quiet for a moment. Then he got over it and said, "No, not __that__ sister." He meant Maggie._

_He tells me that he'll let me go if I help him get to her, which I thought was pretty stupid on his part, 'cause he'd have to let me go before I could do that. How did he know I wasn't gonna double cross him once I got free? Y'know? But of course, I didn't say that. Instead, I pretended to be offended. I said, "What? Am I not good enough for you? All this time, you were just using me to get to her?" I could tell I'd knocked him off his game with that one. He hadn't been expecting that. I would've laughed if I wasn't still in so much pain. I was getting good at this. But he never let himself be knocked down for very long, and he bounced right back. He said, " Is that a 'No'?"_

_Now you have to understand, Maggie and I were close. We were as close as any other sisters. I mean, we may not have shared a bloodline, but we __were__ sisters. I got on better with Maggie, than I ever did with Audra. And I never wanted anything to happen to her. And not just for her sake. She was the only thing standing between life and death for Eve and Colleen. But I was tired, I was cold. I couldn't even remember what food tasted like. And I was in so much pain. I just wanted it to be over. And Maggie may have been a bit touched in the head, but she wasn't stupid. I knew there was no way she was gonna stick around after the other night, however long that was. So I agreed._

_But I wasn't getting off that easy. Not before he did. Something about the last throes of death, I guess. Gets his blood pumping. Metaphorically speaking. He did untie me, though, so that was something, if "untie" is even the word for it. He wasn't exactly gentle about it. He pulled my arms free first, and nearly took my hands off at the wrists in the process, not to mention my feet. He pulled my feet forward at such an awkward angle, I thought they were going to break. They didn't, thank God. And he did it with such force, that when my hands were finally free of my feet, gravity took over and I fell right on top of him. He made some smart-ass remark about how I couldn't wait, then he pushed me off him and threw me down face first onto the floor._

_For a minute all I could do was lay there. My legs were still tied together, and my arms had been tied behind my back so long, it seemed I'd forgotten how to use them. And I couldn't hear anything, either, except for my own heartbeat and this incessant ringing in my ears. Side effect of having your face slammed into the floor at full force. And I think I broke my nose. It was definitely bleeding, I can tell you that. It was a wonder I didn't pass out again. I thought I was going to, for a minute, but no such luck. Instead I was just incapacitated enough that I couldn't do anything but wait for my brain to defog, and wait for what was next._

_It seemed like I was waiting a long time, but looking back, it was probably less than a minute. By the time I'd regained enough of my senses to make a half-assed attempt at escape, he was already on me again. He grabbed my ankles and tore the ropes apart the same way he did the ones on my wrists, then forced my legs apart like he was trying to make a wish. I realized what he had in mind, and that's when I really started to put up a fight. Up until then, I had been worried about Audra. I didn't wanna bring anything down on her. But he'd basically admitted to me that she was already dead. At least he didn't deny it, which amounted to the same thing. So now I was only responsible for myself, and I fought back with everything I had, which granted, wasn't very much. And he was a lot stronger than me. He threw his whole weight on top of me, and knocked the wind out of me. In the moment it took for me to catch my breath again, I realized that my ropes weren't the only thing he'd taken off._

_I tried to squiggle out from under him, but that was, shall we say… counterproductive. And he was just way too strong for me. He wrapped one arm around my stomach so tight I thought I was gonna puke and lifted me up. He got his other arm around my throat, putting me in a chokehold, so I couldn't have puked if I wanted to. He said it could go one of two ways for me. Quickly or slowly. And he demonstrated what he meant by each. It was my choice, he said, 'cause he had all the time in the world. I pretty much gave up, then. I knew there was no way I was getting out of there alive, if at all, and he wasn't gonna kill me until he was damned good and ready. I stopped struggling, and went limp, thinking that if I cooperated it would all be over. Y'know? He'd finish me off, and I could rest in peace._

_But he still had at least one more trick up his sleeve, that he wasn't wearing. He'd asked for cooperation, but what he really wanted was participation. When I went still, he said, "Not this time, darlin'. This game's not over yet. And you're gonna play if it kills you."_

The rest of Lex's tale becomes too graphic, at this point, to commit it to print, so rather than transcribe her account word for word, I've chosen to summarize the highlights. In short, what Angelus wanted was Lex's whole-hearted, full-bodied participation in his little "game". He wouldn't allow her to simply forfeit, or throw the game, and declare him the winner. She had to play to win, knowing that she never could. It wasn't just that she couldn't win, but there was no win to be won. For unlike most games, where the game ends after it there is a winner, this game would have no winner until it was ended. Angelus was already predetermined to be the winner, and only he could decide when it was over. The basis for that decision would be when he felt Lex had given him his full dollars' worth, and Angelus was, and is, a very finicky customer.

**Deference Difference**

After what seemed like hours, and may very well have been, Angelus finally declared himself the victor, and rewarded Lex for a game well played. Her prize? Eternal damnation, and a memory that would haunt her sleep for the next 140 years, as of this writing. When she woke up, she found herself in a place she didn't recognize. Her cuts, bruises and welts had all healed. She had been bathed and dressed, and was lying an actual bed, as opposed to an earthen floor. Lex explains her awakening in more detail.

_It was a nice room, well lit. The dress wasn't particularly fancy, but it was nice. It had flowers on it. Little ones, all jumbled together. And it seemed like it was new. The stockings were, anyway. And the shoes. At first, I didn't even remember how I got there. I mean, I was dead when Angelus brought me there, so of course I wouldn't remember that. But I didn't remember anything else either. I was just tickled by all the new things I apparently had. That, and I was really, really hungry. Then I remembered, and I wasn't so tickled anymore._

_I thought, "Great. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire." Y'know? I thought he had just found another way to change up the game. Only now that I was already dead, he had a lot more freedom to do whatever he wanted to me, without having me die in the middle. It never occurred to me that I might now be strong enough to take him down, maybe beat him at his own game. I guess I was still stuck in the mindset of a weak human. No offense._

_I curled myself into a little ball, trying to make as small a target as I could, and waited. I could hear him talking in the next room, and though I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, I knew he would be coming in soon. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he came in all smiles, like a proud papa looking in on his "princess". Made me wanna heave. And he's like, "Oh good. You're awake." Like I was just taking a nap or something. Darla was right behind him and he started to introduce us, but I interrupted him. I said, " I know who you are… Darla." She acted all flattered that I'd heard of her, like she was some kind of celebrity or something, and she says, "Oh. Has my boy been talking about me?" and I'm like, "No, actually. Your name never came up. He was rather… busy."_

_That's when I realized that she didn't exactly approve of his extracurricular activities. She didn't say so, and she was pretty good at covering it up, but I could tell she was mad, having it thrown in her face like that. I decided from then on that I would try to make friends with her, at least to an extent. Use her as a buffer zone between me and Angelus. I wanted nothing more to do with him, and I knew from reading Mary's piece of the Diary, that I couldn't kill him, which I knew I would if I was left alone with him again._

_I also noticed that Angelus' whole demeanor had changed from the last time I saw him. Or heard him, is more like, since I couldn't really see. Before, he was mad with power, fully in control. He was the boss. Now, though, not so much. I'm not sure I wanna say he was "subservient" to Darla. I don't think that word could ever used to describe Angelus. But there was a certain… deference happening. There was a clear hierarchy, and Angelus was not at the top of it. He wasn't overt about it, but I could see him subtly seeking her approval. He didn't even make a move towards the bed I was on, until Darla started her own approach. And even then, he was real cautious in his movements. And we was giving me this look like he was afraid of __me__, for some reason. Like, now that I was dead, I posed more of a threat to him, than he could to me._

_My demeanor changed too, then. I sat up a little straighter, and changed the way I looked at him. Not the way I __saw__ him, but literally the way I __looked at__ him. Like, "Mother Fucker, I'll kill you." And I could tell the message got through, by the way he was acting. I had to look away and bite my cheek to keep from smiling or laughing. As they finally made their way towards me- not threatening, just walking- Angelus on my left, and her on my right, I made it a point of moving to the side of the bed that she was on. I was sending a clear message that I wasn't answering to him anymore. Which is not to say I was answering to her either, necessarily. But that I knew he __was__, and that she didn't much care for some of his "games"._

_I could see Darla had also picked up on this. She understood that I was acknowledging her position as the Alpha Dog. I let her keep that understanding, while I gave Angelus one last pretense of authority over me. I asked him, "Can I go home now?", but I phrased it with more defiance than deference, then immediately tossed the question back to Darla with a glance, before he could even respond. He either didn't notice, or chose to ignore my subtle denial of his authority._

_Again the subject came up of my bringing Maggie to him. He said, "You promised to help me." I told him that the way I saw it, I already had. We went back and forth like that for a while, with me dropping bits and pieces of what went on in those caves, mostly for Darla's benefit. I didn't know if she really had a full understanding of what happened down there, apart from your run-of-the-mill torture scenes, or if she would even care if she did, but if there was a chance of getting him in trouble with her, I wanted to take it. And apparently, it did get her goat a little bit. She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was less than thrilled about it._

_Finally, after going around a bit on the subject, I said I'd do it. We would go to the house together, and the two of them would wait in the shadows, while I got Maggie to come out. He would take care of the rest, he said. And after, he would leave me to live my unlife. I would be free to do whatever I wanted. I told him I thought that routine was a bit tired. He'd already done that once, when he took me and Audra. No way was Maggie gonna be dumb enough to fall for the same trick again. But I went along with it anyway._

_Sure enough, when we got to the house, it was just like I'd originally thought. I could sense the emptiness inside before I even reached the door. I didn't even bother knocking. I just opened the door, and walked right inside. Whatever barrier that had existed to keep the vampires out, was gone; the place had been abandoned. I don't know where Maggie went, or what she did with the girls, but they were long gone by the time we got there. I guess you'd have to ask her about that. If you can get her to stop talking to the clouds long enough… Good luck with that._

**The Vampire Formerly Known as Maggie**

**Elusive Drusilla**

I took my Aunt Lex's advice and decided to look up my Dear Auntie Dru, which for the record, she _hates_ to be called. The problem with this, of course, is that finding Drusilla is even more difficult than getting in touch with Brigid and Cara. She doesn't own a phone, of any kind, because she never learned how to use one. The same holds true for computers, and the internet. She just can't wrap her head around the technology, probably due to her inherent mistrust of science. I don't think she's ever even seen T.V., and if she had, she probably would have taken it apart to get at the little people inside. My point is, when Drusilla is on her own, i.e. sans Spike or Darla, for example, she is as elusive as they come. You don't "find" Drusilla. You have to wait until she finds you.

In my case, I had to wait until she found one of my people. I put the word out to the rest of the family that I wanted to talk to her, and asked them to contact me if she came around. The call finally came in about a week before Christmas, 2000. Kestryl informed me that Auntie Dru was currently in Los Angeles, and would be attending a wine tasting, later that evening, with the recently re-risen Darla. She suggested that if I happened to turn up at the end of that "tasting", when they were both punch drunk, and potentially in need of a designated driver, I might just get my interview.

I was reluctant to leave Sunnydale at the time, with Buffy's mom fresh out of surgery, and Riley engaging in questionable liaisons with the undead, but I knew this was my last best chance for having anything resembling a conversation with Drusilla. Spike was developing a rather serious crush on the Slayer, and I knew he would be there to help, should anything happen in my absence. I briefly explained to Buffy the situation in L.A., made sure she knew how to reach me if there was an emergency, and reminded her that Spike was there if she needed him. She assured me she would be fine, and encouraged me to go, though she was less than thrilled with the notion of asking Spike for help.

When I arrived in Los Angeles, I found that Kestryl, and the rest of the growing crew of Angel Investigations had their hands full with a crazy distraught vampire. Angel had just had a front row seat to Darla's re-siring, and was now intent on staking her before she could rise again, even if it meant bursting into flames under the hot L.A. sun to do so. He kept insisting, "I can still save her," over and over again. In all the time I've known Angel, I have never seen him in such a state, before or since. It was truly a heartbreaking scene to behold.

Only a few months from meeting a similar fate, I was more concerned for myself, than for Angel. I expressed my concern via asking him if that was his plan for me, when my turn came around. The question served as sufficient distraction for the others to get him calmed down enough to see reason. While he and the rest of his staff tried, in vain, to ascertain Darla and Drusilla's whereabouts, Kestryl and I spent the rest of the day catching up on each other's lives, and discussing the particulars of how I would get my "one-on-one" with Drusilla. To avoid being overheard by Angel and his associates, we conducted our conversation in American Sign Language, the one language we knew neither Angel, nor any of his associates could understand.

**Stakeout**

We finally decided that a stakeout would be the best course of action. The gala that Dru and Darla would be attending that night was to be held at the home of Holland Manners, the Division Head of Special Projects for the law firm, Wolfram & Hart. Kestryl wrote down the address for me, and suggested that I drive there, and wait until the party was finished. I drive a 1990 Volkswagen Westfalia Vanagon painted in pink, blue, and purple swirls. Going anywhere in that van is like driving a rolling billboard that says, "Rowynne Is Here!" If I was to be conducting covert surveillance on the Manners' home, I would have to acquire a vehicle that was less conspicuous and more lawyerly. So while the team of Angel Investigations was preoccupied with locating Drusilla and Darla, I went out and procured just such a vehicle: a shiny, black 2000 Mercedes-Benz CL600.

Following Kestryl's directions, I drove to the Manners house, parking a few yards away on the opposite side of the street, and waited. Hours seemed to pass by as I sat there and watched one luxury sedan after another drive up to the impressive estate. Finally, when I was about to go mad from boredom, my patience paid off, as I observed the most unlikely of transports pull into the driveway and on up to the mansion. I couldn't resist humming the Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the others", as I watched the rust colored 1956 Ford Pick-up drive up among lawyer-mobiles. Thanks to my sister, I knew this truck belonged to Lindsey McDonald, one of Wolfram & Hart's top attorneys, and the last invited guest to be arriving that night. I knew then that my wait would soon be over.

Sure enough, it wasn't long after Lindsey's arrival that another illicitly obtained vehicle (the first one being my Mercedes) pulled into the drive. There was just enough ambient light for me to see that the two women in the car were indeed Darla and Drusilla. I waited until they were well up the drive, then got out of my car and followed them to the house on foot. I watched from the shadows as they went to the door and exchanged a few words with Mrs. Manners from the porch before going inside. I caught a glimpse of Drusilla savagely biting Mrs. Manners before Darla closed the door behind them. The poor woman never even had the chance to scream. I desperately wanted to go in, then, but Kestryl had advised me I would be better off waiting a bit longer.

I moved off into the hedges bordering the driveway and continued watching the house, waiting for my cue. Soon, Angel's Plymouth GTX convertible pulled up to the mansion, and he and my sister got out and went to the door. Angel knocked on the door, the force of the knock pushing it open. Apparently Darla hadn't closed it properly. I saw, then, that while Mrs. Manners was definitely on her last legs, she wasn't quite dead yet. She gasped a couple words to Angel. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I assume it was something to the effect of "Help me." At any rate, the two vampires had no problem crossing the threshold.

After a few minutes, I heard terrified screams coming from deep within the home, and Angel and Kestryl came back out. Angel held himself rigidly, his steps carefully measured and unhurried. He stared straight ahead, not blinking, almost robotic. It was a chilling sight, as if Angel no longer existed behind those unseeing eyes. Angelus, also, was nowhere to be found. He had become something else, something far more terrifying than Angelus could ever hope to be. Kestryl followed cautiously a few steps behind, and I knew that she, too, felt this alarming transformation in him. Everything in her posture told me that while she would support her sire no matter what (this was the case before he _became_ her sire), whatever had transpired in the Manners home gave her sufficient cause to question him for the first time ever. She kept her distance, however, as if she feared Angel would turn his wrath on her if she dared voice any concerns. Angel slid into the driver's seat and waited for her to join him, still staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging her presence, other than to stay his foot from the gas pedal until she had closed her door. As for Kestryl, she curled herself into the passenger seat as far from Angel as she could, as if she were trying to become one with the door. It was this, more than anything else, that highlighted the significance of Angel's sudden change. Until this night, Kestryl had been loyal to Angel (and Angelus) to a fault, going out of her way to please him at _any_ cost. Now, she was like a battered dog, reluctantly following her master because she knew nothing else.

**Interview with a Crazy Vampire**

I waited for the screams to die out, then quickly and quietly entered the residence. The first thing I noticed was the trail of blood drying on the carpet, leading to the recently deceased Mrs. Catherine Manners. A single, man's size 11 shoe print was firmly planted in the trail, pointed away from the dead woman, towards another trail of matching footprints fading away in the direction of the wine cellar. It was as if Angel had stopped only long enough to learn Darla and Drusilla's whereabouts, then continued on into the house without sparing another thought for the dying woman on the floor.

I followed the bloody tracks through the house until they finally disappeared at the top of a flight of stairs leading to what I presumed to be the wine cellar. I reached the double doors, and was surprised to find them locked: from the outside. I couldn't help but ponder the purpose of such a lock on the outside of a wine cellar. It seemed to me that the intention had always been to lock people in, rather than lock people out. Why else would the lock be on the outside of the door? Certainly the builders weren't afraid that bottles of wine would suddenly sprout legs and flee on their own. Whatever the original designers had in mind, my initial assumption proved accurate in this case. Angel had locked Wolfram & Hart's top lawyers in the wine cellar with two hungry (and one very insane) vampires, then walked away as if he had merely been dropping off his dry-cleaning.

I unlocked the doors and swung them open in time to witness Dru and Darla finishing off their last two victims of the evening. Dead lawyers lie strewn about the room like dirty laundry. The two vampires looked up as I entered, tossing their meals aside to focus their full attention upon the interloper- i.e. me. Yellow eyes burned into mine, fangs gleaming brightly in the soft lighting. For a moment, I thought I might be in over my head. I had never got along particularly well with Drusilla, as she saw me as romantic competition, and I didn't know Darla at all. The last time I had seen her, Angel was stabbing her in the back with a sharp wooden instrument. To say there was no love lost between us, would be a severe understatement. Then again, as far as I was concerned I was already dead, or just as good as, so I really had nothing to lose.

After exchanging a few snide remarks, and some editorial commentary on Angel's unexpected behavior, we finally got to the meat of why I was there. Drusilla loved being the center of attention, and was all too happy to answer all my questions, though I knew she would do so in her own way, possibly necessitating a Lunatic to English dictionary. All the same, it was agreed that I would accompany them to their secret hide-away in an undisclosed location, and conduct my interview there. Below is an edited transcript of that interview. For the sake of brevity, and the limitations of written language, I've omitted most, though not all, of Drusilla's incoherent ramblings. You will see for yourself why I had to cut the interview short.

_**Excerpt from Interview:**_

_**Margaret Mary Witfield, A.K.A. "Maggie", A.K.A. "Drusilla"**_

**Row: Do you remember the last time you saw Audra and Lex?**

Dru: Of course, Dear.

**Row: Can you tell me about it?**

Dru: It was at Kestryl's birthday party. Hannah was very cross. She locked our Angel-

**Row: No, no, no, Dru. I mean before that… The last time you saw them **_**alive**_**. The night Angelus took them away.**

Dru: (whispers) Shh… It's a secret. Come to the garden and see your surprise. Me mum had a lovely garden. She grew daffodils. But the roses hide their thorns and prick you in your sleep. I plant daisies but they always die.

**Row: So I've heard. Now about Angelus-**

Dru: Daddy had red ones. They shone like rubies. Tangled up in little pearls. Ruby red pearls for the Queen of Hearts. The Prince demands a party.

**Row: The Queen of Hearts, Dru? You mean your mum? Was Angelus the Prince? What about the King?**

Dru: Don't touch His Majesty's jewels. The knight will have your 'ead. (she pronounced it "Ed")

**Row: Dru, I don't understand. What do you mean?**

Dru: "Beware the woodsman axe," they told me. "Little trees can't face his might."

**Row: Who told you? Who are "they"?**

Dru: Tiny blossoms. Flowers in the attic. They whisper. Psst, psst, psst. Don't forget. He knows the bluebell's song. She sings of secrets you oughtn't never say, and only one crow knows the way.

Occasionally, Drusilla has moments of lucidity that, when they happen, can be downright terrifying. Obviously, this was not one of those moments. Even Darla could only shake her head in puzzlement, the slight tilt of her eyebrow saying, "What did you expect?" I had no choice but to abandon my exclusive interview, and hope to decipher some of her psychotic babble after speaking to her half-sisters.


	14. Eve and Colleen Witfield

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Eve and Colleen Witfield 1854-1872,'80**

As I'm sure you're aware, Buffy Summers died in May 2001. it was a difficult time for all of us, made doubly so by the fact that we couldn't give her a proper send-off. Her death had to be held a closely secret. If the demon world were to learn of her demise, Sunnydale would be overrun to apocalyptic proportions. The "creepy Hell-place" whence Willow's doppelgänger came would become more than just a half-remembered, half-told tale, from a half-remembered dream. It would become a stone cold reality.

Additionally, there was the question of what would become of Dawn if authorities learned of yet another familial loss. Would Child Services really entrust Dawn's care with two lesbians? Would they be any more likely to give custody to an unwed construction worker whose live-in girlfriend has a biography with more holes in it than it took to sink the Titanic? This is to say nothing of what would happen should Hank Summers re-enter the picture.

Because of this, the Slayer had to be laid to rest under the cover of darkness, with no pomp, and no circumstance. Neither myself, nor any of the "Scoobies" could find the emotional strength to wield a shovel, and throw dirt upon our dearly departed. Recognizing the scope of the tragedy, but not feeling it as deeply as we, the "Slayerettes", some members of my family came to lend a hand. Among them were Eve and Colleen.

**Time to Run**

In a scene baring an eerie resemblance to Snow White, with the Slayer laid out in the living room before her seven closest friends, waiting for darkness to fall, I sat down with my fifth-great Aunt, and my forth great grandmother to discuss their own mortality. Eve opens the conversation where Audra left off, the night she and Lex were captured.

_We got up 'cause of all the commotion, but we never made it past the bottom of the stairs. Even a six-year-old knows better than to interrupt a screaming match like that. We didn't know Angelus was there. We just thought our mum and Aunt Lex were getting into it with Uncle Eddie again. Like maybe they were trying to take off again. So we just stayed on the steps and listened. Then all of the sudden Maggie comes barreling around the corner and before we can even ask what's going on, she scoops us both up under her arms and practically hurls us up the stairs all the way to the attic. We stayed up there all night huddled in the corner, and she never did tell us what was going on. She just rocked us back and forth all night long, whispering "Hail Mary's" and such. Truthfully, I think that was when she really broke._

_None of us really slept that night, though I think must have dozed off here and there. I know Maggie didn't sleep, 'cause every time I woke up, she was still muttering her prayers. When the sun came up, and started pouring through the attic window, Maggie did a complete 180. she went from muttering incoherently, rocking back and forth like a crazy person, to running around the house like a chicken with its head cut off. She jumped up and started dragging us out of the attic and back to our room. I swear it felt like we were flying down the stairs._

_So we get to our room and she starts pulling clothes out of everywhere and stuffing some into our overnight bags, and throwing some at __us, __telling us to put them __all__ on because [imitates Dru] "It's frightfully cold out." Then she stops dead in her tracks all of the sudden , like, and bolts out of the room. Colleen and me were just dumbfounded. We just stood there, looking at each other and watching Maggie run back and forth. It was like watching a tennis match. She comes back in with The Book, and starts to shove it at Colleen until she realized that neither of us have moved a single inch. And she's like, "Why aren't you dressed?" Colleen and I just look at each other, then back at her. We cross our arms like a couple of bratty six-year-olds, and Colleen's like, "We're not doing anything you say until you tell us what's going on. Where's our mum? Where's Uncle Eddie?" I swear it was like she aged ten years with that question. Maggie, I mean. She just… crumbled. She plopped down on our bed and just looked at us for a minute. Then she says, "They're dead. Your mum, my mum, all of 'em. They're all gone. It's just us, now." Then she told us what had happened._

_You would think we'd've burst into tears or started throwing a fit or something, but we didn't. I think maybe deep down, we were expecting it. I mean, they tried to keep it from us, what had been happening, with our dad and everything, but we weren't stupid. We knew something was going on that wasn't good. Still, it was a shock, hearing it like that. I mean it's not every day you find out that your family was murdered in one evening. But we did know about Angelus. Our mum and Aunt Lex had told us all the stories, and showed us the pictures for as far back as we could remember. So it's not like we thought Maggie was lying to us, or exaggerating or anything. Plus, why would she?_

Taking Margaret at her word, Eve and Colleen obeyed her instructions to don every article of clothing they could, without restricting their movement, and packed the rest into their two overnight bags. Colleen took possession of The Book, and the three remaining Witfields made their way to the front door. This time, Eve remembered to bring Miss Edith. Colleen describes their final tearful goodbye.

_We'd been so busy packing and what not, that neither of us noticed she hadn't packed a thing for herself, until we got to the door. I said, "Where are your things? Aren't you coming?" She explained that since Angelus had already seen her, had in fact been targeting her from the start, it wasn't safe for us to stay together. "He'll be coming back for me," she told us. "Best he not find the two of you when he does." She was certain he didn't know about us, and we all agreed we wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. On the other hand, I thought it was rather silly for her to stay behind, knowing Angelus was gonna come back looking for her. I told her as much, but she assured us she would be leaving, too, as soon as she knew we were safely away. We weren't exactly thrilled with idea of going out into the world by ourselves, or leaving her behind, but it was pretty clear that she'd made up her mind, and she seemed to know what she was doing so we went along with it. That's when Eve gave her Miss Edith. So she wouldn't have to be alone, she said._

**Meet the Walthrops**

Not knowing where they would go, or how they would possibly survive on their own, Eve and Colleen set the record for being the youngest in my family to set off on their own. Wearing what Colleen insists were, "like twelve layers of clothes", each carrying a small overnight bag that was perhaps too large for their small frames to carry, stuffed to the brim, with Colleen carrying the overlarge family diary, the two six-year-olds stepped out into the bitter London cold for parts unknown. They waved a final goodbye to their half-sister/Aunt Maggie, and trudged off in what they hoped was the direction of downtown. There, they thought, surely they would find someone safe and trustworthy, who would be willing to take them in. However, the chill temperatures, and the overcast sky left them little hope of success. They felt certain than no human in their right mind would be out and about in this weather, and the thin sliver of sunlight peeking out from the tiniest of holes in the clouds would not be enough to stop a vampire, especially one as resilient as Angelus.

The gods were smiling on them that day, however. Angelus was keeping himself well entertained with his new pets, and was thus unaware of the vampire-friendly climate outside. Eve and Colleen, meanwhile, had no trouble reaching London's business district, save for their heavy loads, and the near freezing temperatures that made it hard to move. As expected, when they reached downtown, the found the streets nearly deserted, with the exception of a few cabs parked here and there, waiting for fares that wouldn't soon be coming. With little money, and no destination, these cabs weren't of any use to Eve and Colleen, so they resigned themselves to huddling under an awning, praying to be noticed and pitied by some passerby, holding each other for warmth. Though it seemed like an eternity for the little girls, it likely wasn't that long in actuality, before they spied a mother and her young son, roughly the same age as the twins themselves, coming out of an optician's office. Eve recalls the incident.

_We could hear 'em arguing as they were walking towards us. Apparently he had just got his first pair of eyeglasses, and he was none too happy about it. He thought they made him look stupid, that everyone was gonna pick on him. He was right. He looked like a dork. They were too big for his face, so he had to keep pushing them up with his finger. Really, all he needed was a pocket protector and a bow tie to complete the picture._

Though the twins feared that the mother and son would fail to notice them amid their arguing, notice them they did. Indeed, it was hard not to notice two frail little girls, identical twins no less, huddled on the street, when no one else was about. The pair introduced themselves as Anne and William Walthrop. William was seven years old, and had indeed just acquired his first pair of glasses. When asked why the two little girls were out alone on such a blistery day, Colleen told them as much of the truth as she dared.

_I said that our parents had been murdered in the night while we were sleeping, so we ran away before whoever did it could kill us, too. Even to my own ears it sounded too horrible to possibly be true, though I knew it was. I thought, "No way will they believe us." William seemed skeptical, but Anne believed it without question. She said, "Oh, you poor dears. Have you gone to the police?" I told her that I didn't think the police could help, and that we were afraid of going to an orphanage, because we'd heard they were bad places. She says, "No need to worry about that. You live with us, now." And before we could even think about arguing, not that we would've, she was grabbing our hands and leading us away. It would've been scary if we hadn't been looking for just such an offer. Plus, you know, she was a mother. So she had to be safe._

On the long cab ride back to the Walthrop residence, Mother Anne, as she chose to be called, prattled on about how she had always wanted daughters, and how she just knew the twins were going to love their new home. Eve kept her occupied with conversation, while Colleen and William spoke quietly amongst themselves.

By now, Dear Reader, you've probably come to expect that this would be the point in my narrative, where my interviewees take over the story from their point of view. I assure you, this will indeed be the case. First, however, I feel it's important to point out that until the four of us sat down to have this conversation, on that fateful day following Buffy's death, Spike had not knowingly been in the same room with Colleen since just after her own death, in the Fall of 1880. In fact, until the two of them showed up on the Summers' doorstep, smoking ever so slightly, Spike had been under the impression that Colleen had died all those years ago, from a self-inflicted stake to the heart (more on this later). As a result, their respective narratives were often interrupted by the other one adding his or her two cents. At times, it began to resemble a couples counseling session, more than an interview. While this tended to interrupt the flow of the tale, somewhat, I found it to be rather entertaining, and it was welcome distraction from the dead Slayer in the living room. I've decided to share a bit of it, here, edited for length, of course.

_**Excerpt from Discussion:**_

_**William "Spike" Walthrop, Colleen Witfield**_

**Spike****: At first, I thought she was making the whole thing up, y'know? Like maybe-**

**Colleen**: (insulted) Who would make up something like that?

**Spike****: (pointedly) Don't know, Love. Maybe the same someone who would let someone that cares about her think she was a pile of dust.**

**Colleen**: (scoffs) If you really cared about me, you'd have stayed away. Or better still, stayed home like I asked you, instead of chasing after that tramp-

**Spike****: You take that back! Cecily was a lady! **

**Colleen**: She was a spoiled, self-centered bitch! Just like the rest of those snooty aristocrats you were so desperate to fit in with. The only reason they even invited you to those parties, was out of pity, and because tearing you down somehow made them feel better about their own worthless existence.

**Spike****: That's not true!**

**Colleen**: It is, and you know it! You were never one of the elite, William, and everybody knew it. You were a joke to them. But you just couldn't resist making an ass of yourself at every turn, trying to be something you're not.

Colleen refers to William's seemingly endless quest to be part of the "In-Crowd". Throughout his entire educational career, and even into adulthood, William wanted nothing more than to be accepted by the popular people. In today's high schools, it would be the football players, the cheerleaders, the rich kids that throw the wild parties when their parents are out of town. In short, William was a "Wannabe". Sad, but true. Unfortunately, William had no redeeming qualities to speak of, at least none that interested the crowd of which he was so desperate to be a part.

**First Impressions**

Colleen's harsh words gave Spike pause, for a moment, and I took the opportunity to attempt to steer the conversation back to the original topic. It took some cajoling on my part, but I finally convinced Colleen to keep her peace while Spike told his side of things. It certainly didn't hurt that I also played the guilt card, reminding them all that we did have a burial to attend to that evening, and that perhaps it wasn't the best time to be arguing over the first impressions of a seven-year-old. They may not have souls, but that doesn't mean they are completely without class. The discussion continues in a more civilized fashion, with very few snarky interruptions. Spike's words appear in **bold**.

_**Right. As I was saying, (pointed look at Colleen) I thought they were making up the story about their parents. It just seemed too unbelievable. That sort of thing just didn't happen, you know. I thought they just didn't want to go home. (shrugs) I was seven. What did I know? I knew a couple kids in school that never wanted to go home 'cause their father was a drunk, so I thought maybe that was the case with them. So that's the first thing I asked her. My mum woulda had my hide, if she'd heard me, but she was too busy goin' on and on about the house, and what all, she wasn't paying any attention to me at all.**_

A touch of bitterness creeps into his voice as he says this, but he quickly pushes that down again as he continues.

_**And it's not like I would've told anyone if it was true. I… I didn't really have that many friends in those days. (looks down, embarrassed) I was kind of a… [Colleen interjects, "A nerd?"] (Spike glares, but continues without correcting her)So, I wasn't gonna ruin the one chance I had. Except I did. Or thought I did. 'Cause then she starts crying. Not out loud, but I could see her. She got all teary, and starts looking down at her shoes, and cradling that Book (nods at the Family Diary on the desk) like it was going to protect her or something. I felt like such a jerk. So I tried to apologize, but then she changes the bloody subject on me and starts talkin' about my glasses.**_

At an inquisitive look from me, Colleen takes over the discussion to explain her side of things.

_I didn't wanna talk about what happened. I didn't even really know what happened, other than what Maggie had told us, which wasn't much. And there really wasn't much more to say about it, without getting into the whole Angelus thing, which I definitely was not about to do. Not with Mother Anne sitting right there. (shrugs) I knew he was sensitive about his glasses, so I latched onto that, said I liked them. (smiles, remembering) He sits up all proud, like, and starts adjusting them just so, and he's like, "Yeah? You don't think they make me stupid?" Well, yeah, I __did__ think, but instead what I said was, "Oh, no. I think they make you look very smart. And handsome, too." (shrugs) So I was a bit of a flirt. What of it? It got the subject off of __me__. And it was well worth it to see him turn all red like that. (notices Spike) Huh, kinda like __that__. And they say vampires can't blush._

This led to an overlong discussion on whether or not Spike was, in fact, blushing at that particular moment, whether if it was even possible for a vampire to blush. I was of the opinion that yes he was, and yes they could. Spike insisted that no, they don't, they can't, and he wasn't. I argued that vampires weren't supposed to be able to breathe, either, but I had been witness to Spike doing exactly that on several occasions, and doing quite a lot of it. This comment drew more than a few raised eyebrows, some more non-blushing from Spike, and at least one complaint of nausea from the humans in the room.

I let it go on for a bit, as it seemed to melt some of the tension in the room, particularly between Spike and Colleen. She had confessed to me on previous occasions that she had never really forgiven Spike (though she still calls him, "William") for what had happened to her and Mother Anne, or for that matter, what happened to him. I wasn't especially inclined to interrupt them while they appeared to be getting along. Time wasn't completely 'of the essence', as it was still hours before dark, when we would be able to attend to the unpleasantness of the Slayer, and there was still the matter of first notifying Angel, which would also not be possible until that evening as he and my sister were still stuck in another dimension.

Finally, when the discussion veered toward topics that tended to make the Scoobies question my sanity, and made myself another example a blushing vampire, I changed the subject back to Colleen and William. The conversation tended to flow in a non-linear fashion, but I will try to piece it together for you in chronological order.

After William's rather blunt accusation towards Colleen, their conversation ceased for the rest of the cab ride, and they resigned themselves to listening to Mother Anne's excited chatter. When they arrived at the Walthrop Manner, William gave the girls a tour of the home, while Mother Anne set about preparing brunch. Though Eve and Colleen were first shown the room they would call their own for the rest of their lives, so they could set down their belongings, Colleen continued to carry The Book throughout the rest of the house. She explains:

[The Book]_ was like a security blanket. He was right _(nods to Spike) _that I thought it could protect me. I don't mean The Book, itself, of course, but even though I couldn't read it, yet, I knew there were things in there that would be of use to me in the future. So I wanted to keep it with me. Plus, you know, it was all I had left of my mother. I just wasn't ready to let it go, just yet. And there was also the fear that Mother Anne might read it, and put us out. I don't why. _(shrugs) _I was six. I had just lost my whole family. I was scared. Keeping The Book with me made me feel safe._

William, being the perceptive sort that he was (and still is), picked up on this immediately, and took the opportunity to question her about it, while they were away from the prying eyes and ears of his mother. Despite strong protests from Eve, Colleen decided that William deserved to know the truth about their family's legacy.

_Mostly, __she explains__, I just wanted to tell someone. I couldn't tell Mother Anne, because of course there was no way she would believe us. Or if she did, she surely wouldn't allow us to stay. But William, he was a kid, like us. I knew he wouldn't tell, and if anyone would believe our story, he would. So I sat him down in our room, and I showed it to him. Like I said, I couldn't read it of course, but our mother and Aunt Lex had been telling us the stories for as far back as we could remember. I told William as much as I could remember at the time, while we flipped through The Book together._

In light of future events, I was taken aback upon learning that William had seen The Book early on. I couldn't understand why he would've taken certain actions, given what Colleen had told him about our family, and especially having had access to certain photographs. I will discuss this in further detail later in this chapter. For the sake of continuity, I'm going to skip past the argument that ensued as a result of my confusion, and move straight to Spike's recollections of Colleen's lesson.

_**I gotta admit I had my doubts. It sounded to me like those stories parents use to scare their kids with, get 'em to eat their vegetables. But there was all those pictures of him. A hundred years old, some of 'em. Course, that didn't really prove nothing, I reckon, seein's how they were drawings. Same person could've done all of 'em, then put any date they wanted. (shrug) They looked authentic enough. But the news clippings, those are what convinced me. I couldn't read any of the diary entries, 'cause of the handwriting, but I could read those. All those murders, and disappearances happenin' to one family like that seemed like a helluva coincidence. I wasn't quite ready to buy into the notion of vampires (wry chuckle), but I thought somethin' sure had it in for 'em.**_

After Colleen's history lesson, William excused himself under the pretense of letting the girls settle in. There was no further conversation between William and the girls for the rest of the day, but rather an awkward, tension-filled silence. At the time, this silence was chalked up to run-of-the-mill shyness, but Spike admits now that he had been contemplating telling his mother what he had learned about his new housemates. He reasoned that if someone, or something, was indeed hunting them, then there was a chance he and his mother would become targets as well. Though he longed for the companionship of children his own age, even if they _were_ girls, he thought perhaps it would be better if _these_ girls took up residence somewhere else.

To his credit, young William kept these concerns to himself until late that night, long after his mother had gone to bed, and well past the time when he himself should have been fast asleep. He snuck out of his room, to the twins' room, to find that they, too were wide awake, discussing the very thing he had come talk to them about. Eve explains.

_I thought it was a mistake, telling William about Angelus. I tried to tell her that before, but she didn't listen. Wouldn't listen and William didn't talk to us for the rest of day. Wouldn't hardly look at us. And when he did, he had this… (flutters her fingers in front of her face searching for the right word).. __look__. I just knew he was waiting for the right time to tell his mum on us. We'd been arguing about it since we went to bed. She just wouldn't listen to reason, still doesn't. To hear her talk, you'd think the kid walked on water._

Having inadvertently eavesdropped on Eve and Colleen's argument, William was hesitant to knock on the door. Clearly Eve didn't think very highly of him. All day long she had been staring him down, as if daring him to run to his mother with what Colleen had told him. It was true that he had been contemplating doing just that. The notion that some mysterious boogeyman might invade his home in the middle of the night, and kill him and his mother just because these two little girls happened to be living with them, terrified William more than anything. But Colleen was the first person, besides his mother, of course, who was nice to him right out of the gate. She even liked his glasses, which were sure to be his undoing when he went back to school. Colleen had made him promise not to tell, and he was determined not to betray her. Now though, hearing Eve's assertion that he had either already told, or was at that moment, it was enough to make him turn tail and do just that. Spike recalls.

_**It was an outrage, is what it was. She'd already written me off. Didn't even give me a chance. Yeah, I wanted to tell, sure. I was a little kid, I was scared. But I promised I wouldn't. And I keep my promises.**_

This declaration brought a few raised eyebrows from the other Scoobies. He turned to me for affirmation.

_**Don't I, Rowynne? Have you ever known me to break my word? Or lie? Can you even think of a single time where I've lied or haven't kept my word?**_

I searched my memory through the three and a half years that I've known him. I had to admit that I'd never really seen him lie. He's omitted facts, stretched the truth on occasion, and there've been times when he's been disingenuous. But lied? No. Not really. True, he had told Buffy that he'd never come back to Sunnydale, when they teamed up to stop Angelus, but he had qualified that by saying, "I bloody well hope." So technically, he didn't promise, or lie. The only time I could recall when he actually lied, was when he told Glory that The Key was Bob Barker. And the only promise he's ever broken, was when he promised to kill Buffy. Given the current circumstances, I kept both of these instances to myself, and instead merely agreed that it was true. He continued.

_**So I thought if that was what she thought of me, then who was I to argue? We'll just see how she likes living in an orphanage. I didn't wanna share my home with her anyway. So I started to go back, and wake up my mum, but then I heard Colleen, defending me. "He wouldn't do that," she says. "I trust him."**_

He looks at Colleen, as he quotes her, and a moment passes between them, that I'm sure hasn't happened in over a hundred years. It passes, and he turns back to me.

_**She'd known me for less than a day, and she trusted me. Completely. With this huge secret. She hadn't considered for a minute that I might betray her. My own mum didn't trust me like that. I couldn't even walk to school by myself. But Colleen (looks at her), she had total faith in me. I made up my mind, then, that I couldn't let her down.**_

Another moment passed between my fourth-great grandparents that gave me the chills. I found myself imagining what their relationship may have been like, had William never gone to that ill-fated party, or if Colleen hadn't had the fear of Angelus looming over her head, keeping her from accepting William's proposal. I couldn't help feeling bad for them, thinking what they might have had, and now could never be. On the other hand, if things had been different for them, if they had lived happily ever after, then I wouldn't be alive today. Or undead, rather. I wouldn't exist at all, and I like existing, thank you very much.

**Eve's Lament**

The conversation between William and Colleen, that first night, formed the foundation for a lasting bond between the two, with Eve often left standing on the sidelines. Eve's early distrust, and Colleen's unwavering, if not blind trust, of William drove a wedge between them that only grew more pronounced over time. As Colleen and William grew closer, Eve and Colleen drifted farther apart. Colleen insists it was unintentional.

_I wasn't trying to push her away. (turns to Eve) I wasn't. (turns back) We tried to include her in stuff. But she just wasn't interested. After a while, we just stopped trying. Figured she'd eventually come 'round on her own. But she never did. By the time she… (stops, considering her next words)… __left__, we were practically strangers. It was no wonder she wanted to go right then, when she did, rather than wait till morning. Had she stayed, she probably would've just felt more ignored than she already did, what with Mother Anne being sick and all._

Colleen refers to a particularly brutal winter in 1872. Mother Anne had been sick with pneumonia, and bed-ridden for over a week. Late one evening, she took a turn for the worse and began coughing up blood. It was feared she would not make it through the night, without immediate medical attention, but no one wanted to risk making her worse by exposing her to the freezing temperatures outside, to get her to the doctor. William was reluctant to leave his mother's side, should she take an even worse turn in his absence. Colleen, on the other hand, while worried over Mother Anne's health, was more terrified of encountering Angelus, though there had been no indication that he was anywhere near. Neither she, nor Eve had dared venture outside after dark since coming to the Walthrops', and Colleen was certain that this was the sole reason for their continued survival. She insisted on waiting until morning to make the ten-mile round trip into town.

Eve argued that Mother Anne likely wouldn't last that long, if someone didn't go for help, and volunteered herself to make the trip. Colleen attempted to downplay the seriousness of the illness, while countering that Eve would be helping no one if she didn't make it back. Eve brushed aside Colleen's fears, asserting that Angelus was likely dead already, since they'd seen no evidence to the contrary, and refused "to sit here like a coward while _she_ (indicating Anne) passes before our eyes." With that, she fled into the night, and did not return. Eve tells what happened.

_Fate's a funny thing. Bites you in the ass when you least expect it. The door was open when I got to Dr. Jaimeson's. I should've taken the hint and left, but I didn't come all that way just to turn around and leave empty handed. I told myself he'd probably just forgotten to lock the door. The wind must've blown it open. I wasn't very convincing, but I went in anyway. __He__ was there. Angelus. He had him._

_I probably could've got away. He didn't seem to hear me come in. But I was so shocked, seeing him there, of all places. At that moment. It was like he was waiting for me, just passing the time with Dr. Jaimeson, until I showed up. I think I must've gasped or done something that made him look up, 'cause it was all of a sudden, like. Our eyes locked, and for a while, neither of us moved. It was like we were both frozen in time._

_Me, I was too scared to move. I knew as soon as I did, I was as good as dead. And I had nowhere to go anyway. Running back out the door would've meant turning my back on him, which was the last thing I wanted to do. He would've been on me before I even knew what was happening. My only other option was to run straight at him. But I don't see how that would've served any purpose than maybe surprise him for a minute. Then what? (shrugs) For his part, I think he was just waiting to see what __I'd__ do. So was I, for that matter. But I couldn't move. Couldn't even bring myself to __try__ to fight him. I just… (shakes her head).. gave up. I don't remember what happened after that._

**Road to the Truth**

I had my suspicions that she did remember, and that there was likely quite a lot more to her story than she was telling, but I didn't press it. Unfortunately, the only other person who knew what happened was currently rescuing a physicist from a hell dimension. When he returned, it was highly unlikely he'd be chomping at the bit to share stories from his killing days. Not once he got an earful of the news we had waiting for him. While Spike seemed eager to talk about anything at all to keep his mind off the present situation, anything so long as he didn't have to think about the dead girls in the living room, I knew Angel wouldn't be so easily distracted.

Angel had a tendency to dwell, or brood, if you prefer. That is, after moving through his version of the Five Stages of Grief. The first stage, of course, is Denial. Next comes Acceptance, and along with that, a hearty dose of Blaming Himself, followed closely by Blaming Everyone Else (including myself, and vampires named 'Spike'). Add in a healthy sprinkling of Violence throughout, and set to Broil. Getting Angel to talk about Eve, now, was going to be like trying to rope the wind, if the wind was a royally brassed off vampire with a soul, who'd just learned that the love of his life had been killed while he was in another world rescuing damsels in distress. Still, for the sake of Posterity, I was willing to give it a shot. If all else failed, I had an ample supply of Doxymal, and a strong set of shackles in my van.

**Fledgling Frustrations**

Willow and I made the trip to L.A. alone, leaving Sunnydale roughly an hour before sunset. She drove the van, while I rode in the back, safely hidden from the sun's harmful rays. Waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon, I marveled at the fact that just a few weeks before, such a thing was not even a consideration. I didn't miss the sun. I never spent much time in it, anyway. What I missed was the freedom. Before, if I had somewhere to be, it didn't matter what time of day it was, or whether it was indoors or out. I just went. Now, I had to keep a strict schedule, or plan my route more carefully, lest I become a crispy critter. Sometimes, I simply can't go, and have to relegate myself to observing from afar, unable to do anything about the events taking place. To say the least, it's an inconvenience.

We arrived at the Hyperion shortly after 9:00. Angel and Company wouldn't show up for another forty-five minutes. That's forty-five minutes of pacing, fidgeting, and raiding Angel's personal refrigerator for that barely potable swill he calls, "food". It's like drinking water, when what you really want is a nice, frothy cappuccino. Or like smoking rolling tobacco out of a pipe when all you want is a Marlboro. Not only is it completely unsatisfying, but it leaves you even more frustrated than you were when you started. By the time Team Angel arrived, I was ready to crawl out of my skin, and Willow was looking pretty darn tempting. I knew I should've brought a snack.

**Drive-time Requests**

As expected, Angel was less than thrilled to be talking about Eve, and more specifically, what he did to her, when I brought I up on the drive back to Sunnydale. He actually begged me not to discuss it. "Not now, Rowynne. Please?" Honestly, those words coming from his mouth is like music to my ears. Nonetheless, I took _some_ pity on him, and agreed to his terms. His requests weren't unreasonable. As it was, discussing his past was already plenty difficult for him, particularly as it pertained to his days as Angelus. I saw no reason to make the ordeal more distressing than it had to be. I realize I haven't painted him in a very good light, thus far, but I don't hate him, hard as that may be to believe. It's true Angel and I have our issues, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want him to suffer needlessly (though who can deny he looks darn good doing it?). I don't do these interviews to hurt him.

Angel's first request, or demand, to be more accurate, was that any discussion of his past indiscretions be put on hold until after our Slayer was tucked snugly underground. Personally, I had wanted to wait, anyway. I only brought it up early to give him fair warning. It's not the sort of thing you just dump on a person. "Now that you're done burying your soul mate, let's talk about some people you killed." As Willow has been known to say, occasionally I am callous and strange, but I'm not _that_ evil. Buffy's my friend, too.

Secondly, he insisted our conversation be held in private. He didn't want Buffy's friends having such intimate details of his past misdeeds. They already knew he was capable of, and had committed horrendous evils. That was enough. They didn't need specifics. I tended to agree. Having a general outline of his crimes was bad enough. For my money, I wished I didn't know even half of the things I knew about him. The Scoobies would no doubt be reading about it soon enough, no need to put Angel on the spot now, especially under the circumstances.

Ultimately, despite Angel's protests, it was decided we would all head over to Willy's afterward. Angel and I would find a nice quiet corner in the back somewhere, while the others blew off steam elsewhere in the bar. Why Willy's? As I explained to Angel, I had been cooped up with humans for days. I needed to get out. Everyone else was sure to be in need of a little of brainless fun as well, after completing the unpleasant task we would soon be undertaking. The Bronze was likely to be(and in fact was)closed by the time we finished, and even if it wasn't, the last thing I wanted to do, was to shut myself in with even more hot-blooded Americans, with their way too loudly beating hearts. Though I had managed to quell some of my anxiety earlier, thanks to Wesley, I still wasn't quite ready for that kind of pressure.

**Close Encounters of the Weird Kind**

We arrived at Willy's just after 2:00 a.m. Most of the bar's usual clientele had already retired to whatever hole in the ground they called home. Only the heartiest of demon partiers remained, and Willy was already making preparations to close up shop and call it a night. At the sight of the unlikely group of patrons entering his establishment, however, all looking tired and ragged, and as if they had cancer of the puppy, he quickly changed his tune, and happily accepted our business.

Kestryl, and my Aunt Trudi, who had also come to assist with the burial, led the group to a corner booth large enough to accommodate everyone, while Annie and Colleen headed to the bar to order drinks for everyone. (Eve had opted to leave immediately after our work was done.) I started to lead Angel to a back table where we could reminisce privately, but was assaulted from behind by a 500lb Chorago demon gripping me in a crushing bear-hug, and demanding to know why I never showed up for Card Night anymore.

Since moving to Sunnydale, just weeks before Buffy herself did, Kestryl and I had made it a point to mix in with the Underground, our rationale being that if you were living on a Hellmouth, it was good to have as many allies as possible, no matter what side of the court they played on. I had been taking part in "Bob's" (not his real name, which was likely some unpronounceable word with 29 consonants and an ampersand) weekly card games almost every Thursday, nearly from day one of my Sunnydale residency. With the bedlam of the past several months, however, playing cards with demons had taken a back seat. The last time I had pulled up a chair at Bob's table, was sometime before Riley disappeared into the jungle. Now he was demanding to know where I'd been, what I'd been doing, and whose skull did he have to bash in for making me a creature-of-the-night.

I explained to my large, scaly friend that it was just one of those things that sometimes happened and begged him not to make a big deal out of it. I told him I was only out to blow off some steam with my friends, and because I had some important matters to discuss with Angel. He agreed to give us our space, under the condition that I absolutely came out for "Spite and Malice" (one of our favorite card games) the following Thursday. I promised I would, and Angel and I finally sat down to wake up some sleeping dogs.

**Regarding Eve**

Before beginning my interrogation of Angel regarding Eve, I took out my hand-held tape-recorder that I had thought to bring along for the occasion. Until that moment, I had intended to merely quote Angel's narrative, as I have done in previous chapters. After his initial reaction to the recording device, however, I quickly decided that this would be another instance best served by transcribing the interview as it happened, complete with stage directions, and some personal observations.

_**Conversations With Dead People**_

Angel: _(almost whining_) A cassette recorder? Really, Rowynne? Do you have to?

**Row: Is it that bad?**

Angel: _(considers)_ It's not that. It's just… awkward.

**Row: Oh you wanna talk awkward? Awkward is letting you torture me for hours- days, while my sister helps, then still taking care of you while you were recovering from your vacation in Hell… You almost killed me then, too.**

Angel: I am sorry. If I-

**Row: **_(I really don't want to hear it)_** Whatever. We're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about Eve. What did you do to her? (Angel cracks a slight smile) (angry) You think this is funny?**

Angel: (becomes somber) Of course not. It's just… I never touched her. I swear.

**Row: Bullshit.**

Angel: Really. I never laid a hand on her. I mean, yeah, okay, I did, but not like- (stops, choosing his words) Not like you think. (emphatic) I didn't hurt Eve.

I found this very hard to believe, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

**Row: What happened?**

Angel: Well, I was… _(takes an unnecessary breath)_ I was just about done with the doctor, and I thought I heard something, so I looked up. She's just standing there, watching me. I could smell the fear on her, like… (seems to be searching for an apt description, then realizes such explanations are no longer necessary)Well, I guess you know, now.

I nodded. I did know. For those who don't, it's a bit hard to describe. It can't really be compared to any smell a human might be accustomed to. For me, it's like when you walk past a place that sells cinnamon rolls. I'm not saying fear smells anything like cinnamon, but as a human, whenever I passed a place like that, even if I wasn't the least bit hungry, I had to go in and get a roll. Fear is like that. As this was not a Vampires Anonymous meeting, I kept this comparison to myself, and let him continue uninterrupted.

Angel: But she didn't move. She just stood there, like a statue, except I could see her breathing. I didn't move either; I was waiting to see what she was gonna do. I didn't even let go of the doctor. She looked like she was trying to work up a scream, but it wouldn't come out. Then… (shakes his head like he still can't figure it out).. nothing. She just went blank. There was no fear, no emotion of any kind. At first, I thought she'd died right then, but I could still hear her heart beating. Then she just dropped. Like she was paying homage. But she wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at anything. I didn't know what to do. I'd never seen anything like it. I just stood there for a minute trying to wrap my head around what just happened. When she didn't move, I let go of the doctor and walked up to her. I thought it was an act; I was going to force her hand. I slapped her and she didn't even flinch. She was just… gone.

**Row: You're saying she went catatonic?**

Angel: That's what I'm saying. You don't believe me?

I must admit that his story sounded eerily familiar, and for a moment, I wondered if maybe Kestryl, or someone else had had the opportunity to tell him about Buffy's little episode. A quick scan of thoughts, however, proved that was not the case. Yes, I can do that, and no, neither Angel, nor vampires in general, are immune. Surprising as it may sound, Angel lied to Buffy. In fact, he's actually known for it. Angel's a liar. The real reason Buffy had been unable to read his mind before, was that Angel has had a lot of experience in attempting to hide his thoughts, while Buffy had next to no experience in reading them. He never has been able to hide them from me, though, or the rest of the family, for any length of time. We eventually get through. This time it worked to his advantage; I knew he was telling the truth.

**Row: Something must have happened to her, Angel. And I find it very hard to believe that you don't know. (Angel nods) So… (patiently as if to a child) what happened? What did you do? You didn't just leave her there? (more of a statement than a question)**

Angel: (shakes his head) I scooped her up and took her home with me. (off my look) What? I couldn't just leave her there. It'd ruin my reputation. And what would be the point of killing her when she's like that? It would've been… empty.

**Row: So… what? You were gonna nurse back to health, and **_**then **_**torture her mercilessly?**

Angel's always been appropriately remorseful and ashamed when confronted on his past evils (except as it pertains to Wolfram & Hart's employees, of course), no matter how many times it gets thrown in his face. In our previous conversations, this shame was accompanied by an unwillingness to make eye-contact while admitting his guilt. This time, he met my gaze quite directly as he answered my question. Perhaps, because of my new state of being, he now felt he had nothing to hide from me. I was now no better or worse than he was. We were equals.

Angel: That was the plan.

**Row: (sarcastically) That must've made Darla happy.**

Angel: She was pretty pissed. She was annoyed with the amount of time I spent on Audra and Lex…

Again, I must interrupt to add my two cents. Angel's mention of Audra and Lex caused me to wonder, not for the first time that day, if vampires could vomit. There is nothing about that particular case that doesn't give me the urge to heave, or introduce Angel to a sharp piece of wood. To my credit, I held it in and let him finish his point. To his credit, he got to it quickly, without backing down like he normally would have.

Angel: …not that she witnessed any of that. But she had a pretty good idea. And she didn't like it. With Dru, she tolerated it, reluctantly. But I think that was the last straw with her. Dru was supposed to have been the last. When she wasn't… well, to say Darla was upset would be an understatement. We were arguing about what to do with her- Darla wanted to kill her outright- when Dru walked in. She thought I'd brought her a playmate. So we Dru have her. Take care of two problems at once.

**Row: (I had to ask) Did you know who she was?**

Angel: Not at first. Dru put it together for me.

**Row: So you'd already decided what you were gonna do with her before you knew she was one of yours.**

Angel: (shrugs)Basically.

**Row: Yet you still gave Dru the honor. How generous.**

Angel: (defensive?) Dru _took care_ of her, so that I didn't have to. She was useless to me in that state-

**Row: Careful, Angel. That's shaky ground you're treading on.**

Angel: Look, I'm sorry if that's not what you wanna hear, but it's the truth. That is what you wanted, right? The truth? Well, here it is. I was going to kill Eve. Probably do a lot more than that. But not while she was in that fugue. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to see what was happening. I wanted her to scream. Without any of that, there was no point. I was willing to wait for her to come out of it, but I wanted nothing to do with her until she did.

A part of me hated Angel for being so cavalier about the whole thing. At the same time, I respected him for his honesty. He didn't try to sugar-coat the truth, or put himself in a better light. He told it like it was, and didn't apologize for it. Still, I was unaccustomed to such directness from him, and it caught me off guard. I didn't know what to say. He met my stare evenly, and matched it. I admit it. I was transfixed. Suddenly I knew exactly what Eve was talking about when she said that she and Angelus had been "frozen in time". To say the least, it was unsettling. I forced myself to look away and swallowed hard before asking my next question.

**Row: So, what did Dru do to her?**

Angel: Believe it or not, Dru took good care of her. She bathed her, dressed her, did her hair. She was like a life-sized doll.

**Row: **_(scoffs)_** That can't have lasted long.**

Angel: (nods) About three days. Then Dru got bored. Eve wasn't responding at all. We couldn't even get her to eat. So Dru got the bright idea of turning her. She thought she'd come of it if we made her a vampire. I told her no. I thought it was more likely that she'd just stay that way forever. But by the time Dru told us her plan, it was already done. So we figured we might as well wait and see what happened. Maybe Dru was right.

**Row: And was she?**

Angel: _(makes a "Duh" face)_ Apparently. But we didn't know that at first. She was either late waking up, or else she was faking. We thought Dru had messed up somehow, that she'd killed her instead of turning her.

Options were discussed as to what to do with Eve. Obviously, they couldn't keep her there. Eventually, she would start to stink. They considered burying her, but that seemed like an awful lot of work. The possibility of simply leaving her there, and moving on was also discussed, but the fanged trio wasn't quite ready to leave London. Crime was quite rampant in the city during that time, with plenty of murders to go around. While Angelus and his women were responsible for a good deal of it, some of it was the work of your garden variety criminals. It was easy for them to go about their business undetected, and unhindered. Why spoil a good thing?

In the end, Angelus exercised his creative side, and took her back to Dr. Jaimeson's, where he had found her. He did his best to recreate the position he'd taken her in, but gravity had a little something to say about that. Rather than kneeling as she had been, he left her worshipping at the feet of some unseen deity, legs tucked beneath her, head bowed, arms straight out in front of her, locked in eternal prayer.


	15. Colleen and William

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Colleen and William**

**Bad News Bearers**

From the moment Eve ran out on a fool's errand, Colleen knew her sister wasn't coming back. She tried to hold out hope that she was just being paranoid, and that Eve would return, unharmed, with Dr. Jaimeson in tow, but hope was a rare commodity when faced with stark cold reality. When the sun rose, and it was once again safe to leave the house, she would go herself to fetch the doctor, in the meantime, she did what she could to care for Mother Anne using various homeopathic remedies she had found in The Book.

At dawn, Colleen bundled up and repeated Eve's journey from the night before. Upon arriving at the good doctor's home/office, she came upon a similar scene to the one her sister had encountered. The door was standing wide open, the office in a shambles. Snow had blown in and had left a heavy sprinkling of powder throughout; it was only after she had called out to him that she noticed Dr. Jaimeson lying in a heap on the floor, tossed carelessly aside like someone's dirty laundry. A quick examination of the body told her, "Vampire". Her instincts told her, "Angelus".

Though no evidence remained that her sister had ever made it that far, thanks to the snow, Colleen knew in her gut that Eve had been there, and that Angelus had taken her. What she didn't know, of course, was that Eve was still alive. If she had, she most certainly would have gone looking for her. As it was, she gave her sister up for dead and alerted the authorities, before locating another doctor and returning home. Colleen and Spike shared their recollections with me. Spike's comments are in **bold**.

[Colleen]_** was gone a long time. I was startin' to think somethin' happened to her, when she finally got back with Dr. What's-his-name. I thought she'd been cryin', but that coulda been the weather I s'pose. Didn't say a word to me, at first. She just introduced to the new guy to my mum, made up some cock-and-bull story 'bout how Dr. Jaimeson couldn't make it, and that this guy was a friend of his. I could tell she was holdin' somethin' back. Somethin' about her story just didn't ring true. Mighta been the way she said it. 'Course it didn't help, the way she was lookin' at the doc. Like she was beggin' 'im not to contradict her. (shrugs) So long's he was lookin' after my mum. That's all I cared about.**_

_It wasn't __all__ he cared about. He pulled me aside while Dr. Whosie-whatsit was tending to Mother Anne, demanding to know what really happened to Dr. Jaimeson. I told him what I'd found at his office, and what I didn't find, which was any sign that Eve had ever been there. He took that to mean that she was probably still alive somewhere. No evidence she was there, meant no evidence she was dead. He wanted to go straight away to start looking for her. Now that his mum was being taken care of, he wasn't worried 'bout leaving her. I thought it was a huge waste of time. London was a big place, even back then; chances were slim to none that we'd find her. What were we gonna do? Go knockin' on every door in town 'til we found her? That was assumin' they were even __in__ London. It was just as likely that they weren't. And supposin' we did find 'em, what then? Neither one of us was equipped to be fightin' vampires. We'd only get ourselves killed, and then what would happen to Mother Anne? But he's like, "Oh, no. We've got the sunlight on our side." But he hadn't been out there. It was bright enough out there, I s'pose, but to say there was __sunlight__, was a bit of an exaggeration. I really didn't think it would offer much in the way of protection._

**Consumption**

Colleen was explaining to William the story of how Michael had died in a similar scenario to the one William was proposing (see chapter four), when the doctor finally reached a diagnosis. Mother Anne had an advanced case of what was commonly referred to in those days as "Consumption". Today, it is known simply as Tuberculosis. Originally, the doctor had wanted to place her in a sanatorium for TB patients, but Mother Anne wouldn't hear of it. Spike remembers.

_**She was a stubborn bird. We tried to convince her it was for the best. She'd be able to rest, get plenty of fresh air, people waiting on her hand and foot. She wouldn't have it. She'd never been one for havin' things done for her. If she couldn't do it herself, then she didn't need it. She insisted there was nothing they could do at a hospital, that couldn't be done right there at home. The doc even told her she prob'ly wouldn't last more than five years if she didn't take care of herself right. She didn't care. Said if it was meant to be, then so be it. She would rather die with her family.**_

Spike laughs bitterly at the irony, trying to pretend the situation with his mother doesn't still bother him. I can tell that it does. In all the years I've known him, he's always tried to come off as a tougher customer than he is. He does have a reputation to uphold, after all, though I'm sure living in Angelus' shadow might also have something to do with the "Big Bad" persona he's created for himself. His clear distress over his mother is just another example. He may have been an "evil, soulless thing", but he still missed his mama.

**The Beginning of the End**

The evening following her diagnosis, Mother Anne, who kept insisting she was fine, had been given potent tranquilizers to ensure she got proper rest. However, William and Colleen found themselves far too preoccupied with concerns over Mother Anne's health, as well as the unanswered question of Eve's fate, to bother with such trivialities such as sleeping. They stayed up through the wee hours of the morning trying to convince each other that everything would be all right. When that didn't work, they comforted each other in the manner of hot-blooded teenagers everywhere. A few weeks later, Colleen learned she was with child.

Hearing the news, William's first impulse was to "do the right thing", and marry Colleen. Colleen, however, felt that the "right thing" was not necessarily the _correct_ thing. Though she had received no specific visions on the matter, Colleen was convinced, given her family's history, that she would not have long to live once she gave birth. To marry William now, she was sure, would be doing him a great disservice, despite society's expectations at the time. It broke her heart, and William's as well, but she felt she had no choice but to turn him down, encouraging him to find a nice girl who wasn't likely to die in her twenties.

To spare Mother Anne the embarrassment of having grandchildren out of wedlock, Colleen and William told her they were getting married in a civil ceremony, postponing the public affair of a church wedding until Eve was found and could attend. The reality, of course, was that any sort of public ceremony, legally recognized or not, would ruin William's chances of possibly finding someone else. It was a fairly simple rouse to pull off given Mother Anne's condition. She was too ill to venture out, and visitors to the house were kept away for fear of contracting her disease. No one outside the Walthrop home knew about the couple's "marriage", Colleen's pregnancy, or the subsequent birth of her daughters, Annie and Christiana, on September 25, 1872, which marked the 119th anniversary of Liam's transformation into Angelus.

Following the birth of her twins, Colleen began training with an intensity that would put any Slayer to shame. Every waking moment was spent exercising with the vigor of prize fighter, often with one of the twins in a papoose on her back. Occasionally these training sessions included sparring with William. Spike recalls.

_**She was obsessed. Never even stopped to feed herself. I finally had to force her, when she started to look like a walking skeleton. I reminded her that all her hard work wasn't going to amount to much if she starved herself to death. An' even then, she would just cartwheel across the room, choke down a bit of sandwich an' then jump right back into it. Only time I got her to eat anything decent was when she feeding the girls. [grins] That was a sight to see, lemme tell you. [a look from Colleen quickly ends that train of thought, and he turns serious] But once they started eating solid food, that was the end of that.**_

Once the twins started walking, Colleen began training them in simple self-defense. Of course, as they were only about two feet tall, there wasn't much they could do, apart from delivering a powerful blow to the shins, the effects of which should not be underestimated. Annie remembers.

_She made a training room for us downstairs, in the cellar. Kinda like the one Buffy has back at the shop. Er… or __had,__ rather. __(This conversation was taking place while awaiting Buffy's burial.)__ It had a little blanketed area we could spar in, and a pillow dummy that was supposed to be a vampire. (chuckles) She even drew a little face on it with fangs and the whole bit, trying to make it fun for us, I guess. And she made these ridiculous sparring suits for us, so we could beat the holy crap out of each other without really getting hurt. But they had so much padding we could barely move in them. She even fashioned a stake for us out of some left over material, so that one of us got to be the vampire and the other got to be the victim. I was almost always the vampire. But, either way, I usually won, except for the few times when I'd throw her a bone. Y'know to boost her confidence or whatever. Christi never really seemed to get it, though._

When they weren't training, Colleen schooled her daughters in all things Angelus, much the way Anna had before her, even making flash cards to quiz them with. They were quizzed on everything from his favorite pastimes, his hunting habits, to his known associates, his enemies, and his favorite vacation spots. The only thing she couldn't teach them was his fighting style, as none in our family up to that point had ever faced him and lived to tell about it.

**Dead Man's Party**

In the wee hours of the morning on April 14, 1880, Colleen awoke with what she describes as a "terrible fright", mirroring the same words her half-sister Margaret had used in the Confessional before she'd lost her own family. Colleen claims to have no recollection of a specific dream causing her to awaken so dramatically, but merely a general feeling of foreboding accompanied by some physical symptoms she compares to "morning sickness and P.M.S."

The following afternoon, William returned home from his accounting job with news that he had secured himself an invitation to a gathering at the home of his employer, Albert Addams, a prominent figure in London Society at the time. All of London's social elite would be there, including Mr. Addams' daughter, Cecily, whom had recently garnered William's affections. William regarded the gala as an opportunity to improve his social standing, as well as to potentially endear himself to his most recent crush. Thus far, the pair had scarcely exchanged but a handful of sentences. Colleen was convinced that no good could possibly come from William's presence at the event, which was to take place that Friday.

_When he told me, my stomach knotted up all over again, and I knew that was what had woke up before. I don't wanna say I had a vision, per se. it wasn't that clear. I just had these… flashes. Cecily staring over him like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe. I'd never seen her before, but I knew it was her. You know how sometimes you just know (I indicated I did). And I saw William running, a-and then I… watched him die. It was like watching a movie or something. I only saw her from behind, so I couldn't see her face, just that it was a woman with dark hair. I thought maybe it was Cecily._

For a moment Colleen seems lost in the memory. She shakes herself from her reverie before continuing.

_So I tried to talk him out of going. I told him I thought they were setting up for a fall, to make an ass of him like they had all through school. But he wouldn't have it. He was set. Said I was just jealous, tryin' to hold him back. I couldn't believe it. After everything I'd told him, about our family (__puts her hand over her heart to indicate __our__ family, not __his__ family__), Angelus. Wh-what happened to Eve. For him just to dismiss me like that? Like some silly school-girl? God! I wanted to kill him myself right then. I could've too, y'know. I was pretty svelte._

Looking at her, I knew she was telling the truth. She's like Linda Hamilton in T2. Even as a mere human, I no doubt she could've inflicted some serious damage, particularly to such a slight human as William had been. Even today, I was sure she could wipe the floor with him with little effort.

After William's hurtful allegations, Colleen stormed out of the room and the two didn't share so much as a glance until William was on his way out the door for the final time. She would spend the two intervening days stepping up her own training regimen, and preparing the twins for a quick getaway. She packed a small bag, which she placed by the back door, with The Book, a change of clothes for each of them, and some survival money. Any more than that, and it would have been too much for the six-year-olds to carry. In addition, she stowed some vials of holy water and a pair of stakes in each of their coats, which she also kept at the ready alongside the bag. The holy water was to be used before accepting help from any strangers after dark. It would serve the dual purpose of detecting a vampire, as well as providing a distraction which might allow their escape from same.

The day William was to attend the party, Colleen waited until he was well on his way to work, then bundled the girls up in preparation to head out into the world alone, much the way Margaret had done for Eve and Colleen twenty years before. After letting them practice a few times retrieving their stakes and holy water from their pockets, Colleen hugged and kissed her daughters for the last time, instructing them to head toward the docks, in the opposite direction from the father's workplace. By the time, William returned home that afternoon, Annie and Christiana were long gone. Colleen told him they had gone to sleep after a hard day of playing.

It is here, Dear Reader, where you may be asking yourself the same question on the minds of all of us listening to Colleen's tale, the question asked by Willow. If she had enough foresight to send her children out in the world alone, to protect them, why didn't she also save herself by going with them? Colleen attempts to explain.

_**Excerpt from Discussion:**_

_**Colleen Witfield, William "Spike" Walthrop, Rowynne Crowley**_

**Colleen**: Mother Anne, of course. I couldn't just leave her there. She was helpless.

**Rowynne****: And your six-year-old daughters weren't?**

**Colleen**: No. I taught them the best I could how to protect themselves. Mother Anne could barely protect herself from a flight of stairs.

**Spike**: That's true. I don't reckon she'd have lasted much longer on her own.

**Colleen**: Don't try to defend me, _William. _(spits the word out like a bad taste) You weren't there for me when I needed you the most. I sure as Hell don't need your help now.

Spike looks appropriately chastised, like a kid that's been told to stand in the corner. Colleen continues.

**Colleen**: I knew the girls would be fine. At the very least, I knew they'd be able to make it to the police, or a church. It was day, so no vampires to worry about. Somebody would help them. Mother Anne didn't have anybody. I knew William wouldn't be back after his party. At least not the William we knew. Not the one who gave a shit.

**Spike**: Hey! I resent that!

**Colleen**: Eh, resent this! (makes an obscene gesture) All you ever cared about was your whore of the week! …And your crappy poetry.

**Spike**: (incensed, rises to his full height, jabbing a finger in her direction) You take that back!

Colleen rises also, and though a few inches shorter than Spike's 6'1", she seems to tower over him. She doesn't speak, merely glares. Once again, if looks could kill, Spike would be a pile of ash. Of course, in Colleen's case, looks very well _could_ kill. In fact, the temperature in the room did seem to be rising ever so slightly. For perhaps the first time since I've known him, spike exercises discretion as the better part of valor and excuses himself to the basement. Colleen isn't through with him, however, 120 years of pent-up hostility coming to the fore.

**Colleen**: Yeah, that's right! Run away! Just like always!

I watch Spike's back stiffen and I can literally feel my sire's intense desire to turn and respond, almost as if he, like Colleen, is possessed of some psychokinetic ability. He surprises me again, however, and continues on toward the kitchen, which houses the basement door. I can't remember feeling this much pride for an individual since Buffy told the Council where to stick it. Was it really only three months ago? It hardly seems possible. But I digress. The source of her anger having fled, Colleen attempts to explain further.

_If I had left, Mother Anne would've been all alone. Like he said (nods in Spike's direction), she probably wouldn't have lasted long enough to meet… "Spike" (__rolls her eyes, pronouncing the name as if it were the most ridiculous moniker she'd ever heard__). And… (__sighs__) I s'pose I was still holding on to some foolish hope of talking him out of going to his little shindig. Y'know, admit to him that I __was__ jealous - I wasn't - but really did have his best interests at heart. He'd agree that I was probably right, and decide to stay. Then we'd go find the girls, bring 'em home and live happily ever after._

(sighs)_But it was a childish fantasy. Deep down, I knew he had to go. Cosmic Order and all that. William had to go to that stupid party, then run off to meet his end, just like Buffy had to jump off that scaffold. And I had to stay and wait for him. Same as you._

She chucks me on the chin in a gesture that was supposed to illustrate some sort of solidarity, but it only served to remind me of what I'd lost just two weeks before. Believe it or not, I'd actually forgotten for a moment that I could never again witness another sun rise or set in person, or that lunch from now on would involve a microwave and a mug, with maybe some Weetabix thrown in for texture (gag). To paraphrase one Harmony Kendall, there are some things about being a vampire that do, indeed, suck.

**Hello Goodbye**

As William prepared to depart for the social event of his lifetime, Colleen attempted to mend some fences between them. As planned she tried one last time to convince him to stay, and as predicted, he declined, blinded by his infatuation with Cecily, and his overwhelming need for social acceptance. When he was ready to leave, she kissed him on the cheek, bidding him farewell and good luck, and began the excruciating process of waiting around.

She cleaned, she trained, she saw to Mother Anne, and she trained some more. She occupied her time with whatever she could think of that didn't involve sitting still. Think about it. Would you be able to simply sit around, knowing what Colleen knew, and not even knowing how long you would have to wait? I think not. So she kept busy any and every way she knew how. Approximately twenty-four hours passed without any word from William. Mother Anne was becoming quite worried, in light of the rash of murders which had taken place in the last several days. Colleen, of course, knew that by now, William was surely dead, but she still had the challenge of assuring Mother Anne that he was just fine. He had probably gone home with some nice debutante and lost track of time, she insisted. Even Mother Anne had a hard time believing that one, but was willing to accept the notion that perhaps anything was possible.

Unfortunately Colleen hadn't even a feeble excuse such as that to give her comfort. Sleep became a distant memory. Food, even her favorites, had the taste of worn shoe leather, and offered as much comfort as a bed sheet would to a homeless man on cobblestone in the dead of winter. Hence, as you could imagine, when William finally made his appearance a full three nights after his initial departure, Colleen was far from being in her best condition, despite all her arduous hours of training. She recalls the evening of his return as if it were yesterday.

_I suggested to Mother Anne that she try relaxing in a hot bath, to take the edge off, and had just finished helping her settle into it, when I got another one of those feelings. The little hairs on my arm, and on the back of my neck stood straight up, and I got real cold. I checked that Mother Anne was all right - she was - then went out to the sitting room. I stood there for a moment trying to warm myself when there was a loud knock on the door. It was like a BAM! BAM! BAM! It was like a Cop Knock. But there was this tightening in my chest told me it was him, and like a cool breeze at my neck that told me he wasn't alone, but when I cracked the door open and looked, I only saw William. Or "Spike", I guess._

_I don't know what got into me. I knew better, but I couldn't help it. Before I even took time to think, I was throwing the door open and leaping into his arms like I hadn't a clue about what happened to him. And I instantly regretted it. Not that he attacked me or anything. He needed me to let him inside, after all. But hugging him was like, well, like hugging a corpse. Cold and hard. Except for the part where most corpses don't hug you back, which he did, and whatever… force, or energy, or whatever you wanna call it that made him what he was, it made me wanna vomit._

_He should've known that I knew, but he didn't seem to, so I didn't let on. I let go of him and asked him where he'd been. He said he'd tell me all about it once we were inside. A clever way to get an invitation without admitting that he needed one. I agreed and got out of the way to let him in, and just as he crossed the threshold, Maggie appeared out of the shadows. Er… Drusilla, rather. It was like she materialized out of thin air. (__holds up a hand before I could protest__) I know she doesn't have that power, but that's what it __seemed__ like._

_Scared the bejeezus outta me, I can tell you that. Not that I was scared of __her__ exactly, though maybe I shoulda been, but it was that I __knew__ her. And she was just like I remembered her. Well, of course she was. But I'd had no idea. A-and she was the last person I expected to see. To say she caught me off guard would be a supreme understatement._

Against her better judgment, Colleen extended the requisite invitations and followed Drusilla into the house, closing the door behind her. Introductions were made ("Colleen, this is Drusilla." "No, William. This is Maggie."), and some quasi-pleasantries were exchanged. William inquired as to the health of his mother, and the whereabouts of his children. Colleen saw no reason to lie to him, and informed him that she had sent them away hours before. To her surprise, the fledgling vampire seemed genuinely upset, angry in fact, that Colleen had sent them off on their own at such a tender age. Colleen describes his reaction.

_He reacted like a normal human father. Not at all like a vampire. Well, except for the part where his fangs came out and his face went all squinchy. I guess it's possible he was just putting on an act, but if he was, he deserves an award. Even Maggie looked baffled. Baffled for __her__, I mean. I know she always looks a __little__ baffled._

_I told him I thought they were safer taking their chances out there, than at home. Out there, they at least had a fighting chance. Inside the house, they would be trapped with monsters with almost no chance of escape. He actually had the nerve to be offended. Like how dare I even consider the notion that he, a __vampire__, for crying out loud, would harm so much as a hair on their very human little heads. I guess he had it in his head, that now that he was a vampire, he would turn me and Mother Anne into vampires, too, and then the six of us, including Maggie, would live happily ever after and have nothing to worry about ever again._

_So I asked him if he planned to turn the girls as well, and he's like, "Of course not", like __I__ was the idiot. Like we were gonna be happy family of vampires raising human children like it was the most natural thing in the world. God, I wanted to hit him just for being so __stupid__. I swear he was smarter than that when he was alive. There must've been some kind of crazy-transference thing happening when Maggie sired him. And even she was looking at him like he'd plum lost it. And you know when a crazy bitch thinks you've lost it, it really is time for the men in white coats to lock you up in a padded cell._

_So I laughed at him. I couldn't help it, it was just so ridiculous. He didn't like that. I guess he'd finally had enough of people laughing at him. Before I knew it, I was on the ground across the room, with a big welt on my cheek._

According to Colleen, she gave as good as she got, and the two went around and around all over the house, (God help any bits of furniture that happened to be in the way), until finally Colleen had no more to give, and ultimately fell victim to the same blood-borne pathogen that has claimed so many of my ancestors. She awoke alone her room to the sounds of arguing downstairs. Mother Anne, it seemed, had a few choice words for her deceased son and (as Colleen discovered whilst eavesdropping) sire. Colleen decided she had no more desire to spend eternity with the new and improved William and his concubine, than his mother did, and used the distraction as an opportunity to stage her own re-death and flee to parts unknown. Spike accepted her ruse until the day she came to assist with Buffy's burial.


	16. Annie and Christiana Walthrop

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Christiana and Annie Walthrop 1872-1898,'99**

**Run Away**

As per their mother's instructions, Annie and Christiana fled to the docks and bribed their way on to a cargo ship headed for France. Now you may be asking yourself, as I did Annie, what could make your average ship captain grant passage to a couple of unattended seven-year-olds. According to Annie:

_We were cute! _(whips out a photo)_ Well, that and money. Our mum had been saving up most of our lives, so we had plenty of it. Not so for your average Joe. So we batted our eyelashes and showed him our pouty faces, and when that didn't work, we flashed him a twenty pound note. And then he was so nice._

They arrived in Calais just after dark and found a hostel to spend the night in. They rose with the sun and continued their journey in an easterly direction, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and London. They maintained a pattern of traveling only during the day and resting - well hidden, if not quite secure - once it got dark, until they reached Jeumont, France. They spent the night in a barn, and were awakened before dawn by an angry, albeit understanding farmer. The gentleman took the girls to the local police, who in turn put them in a horsecar to Saint-Ghislain, in Belgium. There, they were met by a woman who called herself Madame Gervais, and ran an orphanage. Annie remembers.

_She was nice enough, I guess. Kinda standoffish, but not really mean or anything. And the orphanage was… okay. I mean it sure wasn't the Hilton. More like a kid warehouse. I think there were like twenty-something other kids there. I guess you'd call it a townhouse. The top floor had been converted to a single dorm room, packed to the gills with beds. Not the ideal situation to be sure, but we weren't mistreated. It wasn't like you see in the movies. And anyway we figured we were safer there, than outside._

It was a nice idea in theory, and for the next three years, it seemed the twins' assumption was correct. Then, on the evening of August 3, 1883, the orphanage was visited by a young, well-dressed couple who apparently wanted to adopt. Annie tells the tale.

_I remember thinking it was a little late for visitors. We had all gone to bed for the night. We were supposed to have been sleeping, but you know how it is when you put a bunch of kids in a room together and tell them to go to sleep. So we were wide awake when we heard the knock. Curiosity got the better of us and we snuck out of our room to see who it was. It was them. Angelus and Darla. We peeked around the corner just in time to see Madame Gervais hit the floor. Broken neck, I assume._

_So we turned tail and ran back to the room, tried to save as many as we could. But really, it was every kid for themselves. Kinda, "There's the window. You can stay and die, or follow us." We grabbed our bag and dived hoping to God we'd hit the ground without breaking something. Had our wind knocked out, but lucked out otherwise. We made tracks as fast as we could for Angelus and Darla's carriage. In hindsight, that probably wasn't the best idea. Y'know, they could've had friends waiting. They didn't, but there was no way we could've known that. But we were ten. Wha'd'ya want?_

_Anyway we got on board with like four other kids who managed to get there at the same time we did. I'm sorry to say there were a few others making their way towards us, but we weren't going to wait. As it was, we'd barely got going when the two of them realized what was happening and tried to come after us. If we'd been even a minute slower, they would've had us._

**The Kalderash Clan**

Annie and Christiana drove their fellow refugees as far as the police station in Beaumont, Belgium, wished them luck, and continued on their way, resuming their journey east. Within a week of leaving Beaumont, both their horses had given up on them, stranding them just outside Linz, Austria. The sun was already beginning its descent into the horizon by the time the girls began making their way towards town on foot. When they finally reached the center of town, it was well after dark and most of the businesses had already closed for the evening. Annie describes the scene.

_There were only about a handful of places still open, and we couldn't read the signs on any of them. I think they were in Czech. Or one of those weird languages with the crazy squiggles and the backwards three's. They might've been in German, too, I guess, but if they were I was too distracted by those weird Slavic letters to notice. And anyway, while we'd learned __some__ German living with Madame Gervais, we never learned to read it._

_So we didn't know what anything was and we didn't have much money left anyway. We'd spent most of it on the horses. We had enough to maybe get some soup or something. Not enough to stay anywhere. And Christi was freaking out. She was sure Angelus followed us from the orphanage and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. I told her it was more likely that he would've already killed us. She reminded me how he'd stalked Moira and Rebecca till they were sixteen, but I argued that we still had a few years left, then, and- [__an ahem from me__] Sorry. I get off track sometimes._

_So we wandered into a place we thought was a restaurant. Next thing we knew, we were being rather forcefully escorted out by this large, bald, and might I add, angry fellow screaming at us in German. He was talking so fast, we couldn't understand a single word. And our own German was so basic we could only explain to him that we were hungry, but not that we had money to pay, so our pleas sorta fell on deaf ears. We discovered later that it was actually a pub and that children weren't welcome._

_Anyhow, we were standing there on the side of the road trying to figure out what we were going to do, and even though I didn't think it was likely that Angelus was around, I thought there were probably other vampires around. I tried not to let on to Christiana, but I was scared shitless to be honest. Just being in a strange place where we didn't speak the language, and after dark, no less, was enough to set our hair on end, even without throwing vampires into the mix. So when this man came up behind us and tapped me on the shoulder, he's lucky I didn't turn around and sock him in the balls._

Annie described the man as being slender and in his thirties, with dark hair, bushy eyebrows, and speaking in heavily accented English. He advised the twins of the dangerousness of being out alone after dark, and inquired about their parents. Annie informed him that they were orphans, which led to a heated discussion between the two children (in French) about whether the gentleman should be trusted. Annie elaborates.

_Christiana saw vampires everywhere she looked, and said that for all we knew this man was one of them, and was trying to lure us into a dark alley to kill us and do horrible things to our corpses. Turns out, he spoke French, too, and understood every word we'd said to each other. He surprised us by saying how he admired Christi's crucifix from our mother, and asking to take a closer look. She was a tad sketchy about the idea, but said okay, and he bent and held the cross in his hand while he "examined" it (__makes air quotes with her finger__s). We'd been taught that a cross would burn vampires the same as Holy Water, so we watched to see if he sizzled, but he never did._

The man introduced himself as Sorin, and after leading the girls to a small diner around the corner where he treated them to dinner, he explained that his people, a clan of gypsies known as the Kalderash, had been plagued by vampires for many years. Their vagabond lifestyle made them prime targets. Sorin was returning to his home in Borşa, Romania after having spent the past year traveling throughout Europe gathering various herbs not native to his homeland in the hopes of using them to concoct a spell to protect their camp from future attacks. Until then, he explained, his people had worked out a system wherein the able-bodied adults of this clan took turns guarding the perimeter at night.

Again expressing his concern for the twins' safety, particularly after learning of their history with Angelus, Sorin invited the girls to return with him to Romania. Because of the tribe's knowledge of, and past experience with vampires, Sorin felt the girls would be safer living with the Kalderash than anywhere else. Annie and Christiana were inclined to agree, and the prospect of being part of a family again was more than tempting, not to mention the notion of learning some gypsy magic in the process. So they graciously accepted Sorin's offer and after spending the night in the boarding house where he was staying, the three departed the next morning and roughly one week later were greeted in Borşa by a very relieved band of gypsies.

As Sorin predicted, Annie and Christiana were welcomed into the clan with open arms, and quickly assimilated into the gypsy culture. Christiana quickly become the favorite among the Kalderash people, and was coddled almost like a princess. While you would think this would lead to some resentment from her sister, Annie insists that was not the case.

_Christi was the girly-girl. Always had been. Never was much of a fighter, or athletic at all, really. So it was only natural that she got picked to do the girly stuff. Y'know, sewing, cooking, gathering. Stuff like that. She got real good at making potions and stuff, too. Meanwhile, I got to learn to fight with the boys. So I could take my turn in the rotation when I got old enough. Which is what I wanted. I didn't want to be the damsel in distress. I wanted to be the hero. Christi was much more comfy letting others do the fighting for her. Not that that was a bad thing necessarily. That was just who she was. We may have looked identical, but in every other way we were as different as night and day._

**Wedding Bell Blues**

In the spring of 1894, Christiana was engaged to be married to Sorin's nephew, Dumitru, but on the evening before the ceremony, which was to take place on March 21, he lost his life, along with two others, while on routine patrol. Annie remembers.

_I remember having a real bad feeling all day. I hadn't had any visions, yet, but something just felt off somehow. I couldn't explain it. But I tried to get them to postpone the wedding, just for a few days, until the feeling passed, but they wouldn't hear of it. Something about a planetary alignment. They said I was just nervous about the wedding. Jitters by proxy, I guess. But when we were all suiting up to go out [__on patrol__], it hit me again. It was like this wave. For a moment I thought I was gonna get sick, , and I got real dizzy. I nearly passed out. Like I said, it wasn't a vision, but I just knew something bad was going to happen and that it had to do with Dumitru. So I went to his best friend, Jakob [__pronounced "Yaw-cub"__] who was the only one who'd given any credence to my concerns, and together we tried to convince Dumitru to take the night off. Jakob offered to cover for him since he wasn't part of that night's team, himself. He refused saying that no one else had ever skipped their turn on patrol for anything less than a crippling illness or injury, and he should be no different just because he happened to be getting married. And what kind of husband would he be if he couldn't even protect his protect his village?_

_So I tried to stick close to him so I could keep an eye out, but I had my own area to patrol. We'd been trained to be hyper-aware of our surroundings, y'know so we could tell the difference between an animal in the bushes or a human being, or even between a human and a vampire. Anything hinky or out of the ordinary would've raised a flag and any one of us could've saved him. If we weren't busy with invaders of our own. It was a raid, you see. To this day, I'm not sure what the point was. Or even if there __was__ a point aside from a bunch of hungry vampires hopin' for easy pickin's. I can tell you they were fairly new. Highly inexperienced and not very organized, apart from the way they ambushed us. It was how they were able to kill so many of us. I know three doesn't sound like a lot but it was. These weren't a bunch of kids playing war games. We knew what we were doing. Losing __one__ team member wasn't unheard of. It was rare, but it happened. But three? Never. Until then. They surprised us. But we still outnumbered them at least two to one, and eventually we took them all down, but not before we lost three of our guys, Dumitru included. I heard him yell and was about to go to him, when one of them jumped me from behind. By the time I dusted him and went to help Dumitru, it was too late. I got there just in time to see his corpse hit the ground._

_Christi was devastated, as you can imagine. At first she couldn't even form words, and when she finally did, it was to ask if Angelus was behind it, and to try to organize a raiding party of our own. I told her, as I'm telling you now, I didn't see Angelus. I would've loved to have blamed him, but even back then I had to admit it didn't seem like his style. Not from the stories I'd read, though most of those were hearsay. But Mary did say [__in her writings__] that he valued artistic form over brute force, and this attack definitely lacked anything resembling artistry. And it was too impersonal. Everything I'd read suggested Angelus liked to add a personal touch to his kills. Some little sign that he'd been there. If he'd been involved, there would've been no question. He'd have gone out of his way to make himself known._

Since all evidence suggested Angelus had no part of the raid that evening, and all of the participants had already met their ends, Christiana was left with no recourse, no possibility for revenge. As a result, she became sullen and withdrawn. She rarely left her tent, except when the elders insisted on it. Often she would disappear for hours, taking long walks by herself (daylight hours only, of course). Even Annie rarely saw or spoke to her. She pulled away from everyone and everything. So all-consuming was her loss, that she would never recover from it.

**Lost and Found**

Shut out by her sister, Annie found companionship with Dumitru's best friend, Jakob. The two began courting, as they say, and four years later, were engaged to be married. This time, the happy couple, as well as the rest of the clan, agreed they should avoid planetary alignments, equinoxes, and any astrological phenomena whatsoever. They decided instead to hold the ceremony on Annie's birthday, September 25. Had she or Christiana remembered that they shared their birthday with Angelus' re-birthday, they might have reconsidered as a matter of principal. Neither did, however, and the wedding went ahead as planned.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, and even Christiana turned out for the festivities which started in the early afternoon, continuing on through the night. Though she attempted to put on a happy face for her sister, Christiana still hadn't overcome her depression, and excused herself some time after dark, offering her congratulations to the couple for a final time. Annie recalls.

_I was too consumed with the celebration and my own self-importance to pay much attention. I figured it was just Christi being Christi, and didn't really worry much about it. I imagined all the brouhaha was just too overwhelming and she needed to be alone. So I let her. I guess it was almost dawn when we finally turned in for the night. I didn't bother to check on Christi, just figured she went to bed._

_I woke up sometime around… mid-morning, I guess it was. Way too early for me to have been awake, anyway. And I was sweatin' bullets. Not from the heat, either. I mean I guess it might've been a __little__ warm, but it wasn't __that__ hot. I think I must've had a nightmare, but I couldn't remember anything specific. I just remember waking up terrified. Of what, I didn't know. But I just had one thought. Or not even a thought, really. Just a… I don't know how to explain it. It was like a subliminal message. And I ran straight to Christi's tent. Or, I guess I ran. I don't even know how I got there actually. It's like, one minute I'm in bed, and the next I'm standing in Christi's tent staring at her empty bed. I hadn't even bothered to get dressed. I just stood there frozen for… well it seemed like forever, just standing there naked, staring at her bed. Like if I stood there long enough she would just magically appear in it._

_I couldn't move, I couldn't form a thought. I couldn't do anything but stand there. Then it was like someone lit a fire under my ass. Like literally. I just started screaming bloody murder. I mean really. At the top of my lungs. Like someone was slowly ripping my entrails out through my nose… only I guess without the nasally voice. And I guess I sorta went away for a minute. In here , I mean [__taps her temple__]. The next thing I was aware of was being surrounded by like the whole clan it seemed. Jakob was holding me, and everyone was talking at once, asking me like a million questions. And all I could get out was that I thought Christi was missing. I say "thought" cuz there wasn't any actual evidence that anything had happened. Just a maybe-dream that I couldn't remember, an empty tent, and a bed that __might__ not have been slept in. It was possible she'd just got up early, made her bed, and went for a walk. [shrugs] She did that sometimes. Which was what everyone else insisted must have happened. There was no sign of a struggle, and no one had seen or heard anything the night before. [__sarcastic__] Which of course they would have, with all the wedding hoopla going on. But they all assured me that that must have been what happened, even though the knot in my stomach was telling me otherwise. I was just overreacting, they said._

_Everyone except the Shuv'ani, the elder woman of our tribe. She never said a word during the whole thing. But she met my eyes as if she knew something the rest of them didn't. That was often the case. She was like our Yoda. When she spoke, people listened, even if they didn't like what she had to say. But sometimes, like right then, she spoke volumes without ever saying a word. That one look told me all I needed to know._

_So I excused myself saying I was going to try to catch up with Christi and, after getting dressed, left camp to look for her. At first, I just wandered around aimlessly, calling out to her, like people do. She didn't answer of course. After a bit, though, it was like my feet had a mind of their own, and I found myself heading back towards the town. As I got closer to, but not quite __in__ town, I stated to pass this modest little cottage. I didn't pay much attention to it at first, but as I came up even with it, all of a sudden it was like I hit this wall of… I don't know how to describe it. It made me think of the story about Pandora's Box. How she opened the box and let out all the bad juju all at once. I got literally sick to my stomach. Like __violently__ ill. And then everything started spinning, and my legs went out from under me, and I just collapsed. And that's when I had my first real vision. Not just a "bad feeling", or a vague notion of something terrible, but an all-out, balls-to-the-wall, honest to God, this-time-it's-for-keeps, actual vision._

_It was Christi. She was somewhere in that cottage. It was dark, but I could see she was tied up. Naked. __Covered__ in blood. There was so much of it, I couldn't tell where it had come from. How much of it was from actual wounds, and how much was just there. It looked like it had been smeared around on purpose. Her hair was all matted and gross. Her face, though it was mostly in shadow and hidden behind her hair, was bruised almost beyond recognition. I could see bite marks all over everywhere that wasn't masked by blood. I was sure she was dead._

_And then she spoke to me. Not out loud. Telepathically, I mean. I was lying there like a dumb-ass, all crumpled up there on the side of the road, __right in front of his HOUSE__, for crying out loud, carrying on like a banshee. I mean she was my sister. And to see her like that… well, the fight just went out of me. I'd given up. Then I heard her voice in my ear. Well, obviously, __not__, but it __sounded__ like she was right there. Yelling at me to get off my ass and get the fuck out. That snapped me out of it a little bit, so then I started __arguing__ with her. Do you have any idea what it's like to argue with a disembodied voice? Oh, right. I guess you do. So then I'm like, "No, I have to get you out of there. Blah, blah, blah." But she said that no, I had to let her go. That it was her death that turns it all around, brings him over to our side. Why we couldn't retaliate every time he killed one of us. She said I had to leave her, or it would all be for nothing. Like now that she's on the edge of death she suddenly grows a pair and becomes all knowing. Then again, most of __my__ powers didn't show up till __after__ I died._

**Who's That Girl?**

While Annie was arguing with the voice in her head, Angelus was peering out the window to see what the commotion was about. The vision that greeted him was of Annie, kneeling in front of his house, not five feet away, face turned toward the heavens, seemingly talking to herself. Until that moment, according to Angel's handwritten account in the family diary, he had been unaware of any connection between Christiana and himself. He had assumed she was merely some random gypsy Darla had found for him. Of course, from Darla's point of view, she was. Had she known, she may have passed her over for another, as by this point Darla had had enough of Angelus' obsession with obliterating his kin.

Angelus, on the other hand, could never have enough. The idea alone that he'd acquired yet another of our breed to do with as he pleased, for him was like finding two toys in the Cracker Jack box. However, he was not about to be sated by the mere possibility of such a find. He required proof, or at least confirmation. In fact, he demanded it, and Christiana was going to give it to him if it was the last thing she did. I know from experience that if Angelus wants something from you, he will do whatever it takes to get it, be it information or his own twisted pleasures. In this case, he took both. According to his written confession, he had already used her up to the point where he thought she might be done, this after only a few short hours in his custody. He would not be swayed, though, and as one might with the remainder of a tube of toothpaste, he thought if he squeezed just a little harder, he could force what he needed out of her.

So while Annie was running back to her tribe to tell The Shuv'ani what she'd seen and heard, Angelus was having a rousing game of "Who's Your Daddy?" with Christiana. He gave, and he took, and he gave it back again, only take some more. Each time promising release, he demanded first, to know who the girl outside was. What was she doing there? What was her name? Next, of course, he wanted to know where the two girls had really come from, who their parents were, and so forth. Ultimately, he wanted to ascertain whether Annie and Christiana were from his own stock, and until all his questions were satisfactorily answered, Christiana would have no peace, final or otherwise.

**Ritual of Restoration**

Her heart heavy, lungs on fire from running full speed through the forest, Annie returned to the gypsy encampment, and bypassing even her new husband, headed straight for The Shuv'ani's tent. Before she could even begin to explain her vision, the wise old woman informed her that she already knew of Christiana's fate. Annie explains.

_I ran into her tent and before I could get two words out, she says, "You found her." Just like that. Matter of fact. Like she was saying, "Looks like rain." I told her I had, and explained my vision to her, and what Christiana had said in my head. She just nodded and said, "I feared that might be the case." And then she tells me about the Ritual. Apparently it had been in her family for a while, devised by her ancestors years before. I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to think, or how to feel. On the one hand, I was relieved that it was finally going to be over. On the other hand, I was pissed. I mean, here was this spell that effectively stopped vampires from killing, and they were just sitting on it while generations of my ancestors were dropping like flies. They could've prevented all of it! I said all this to The Shuv'ani, and of course she pointed out that it was the fear of Angelus that had caused all of my grandparents to have met each other._

_Then she explained that the Ritual was only to be used in extreme cases. You just couldn't go around ensouling vampires all willy-nilly. It would upset the natural order of things, the balance between good and evil, and chaos would ensue. And not just any vamp would do. There were __criteria__. First, you had to look at what kind of person they had been in life. There were plenty of humans roaming around with souls that were just as evil, if not more so, than your average vampire. To put it in today's terms, if Hitler had become a vampire, and you rammed a soul down __his__ throat, it wouldn't have done any good, because he was already evil from the start. On the other hand, if Gandhi became a vampire, and killed a bunch of people, and you gave __him__ a soul, he probably couldn't have handled it. The guilt would have destroyed him, and you would have accomplished nothing. So, in that respect, you'd want a normal dude. Not saintly, but not overtly evil, either. Secondly, the balance between good and evil would have to be so greatly upset by the vampire's very existence that merely killing him would not be sufficient to even the score. Starting to sound like someone you know? And of course, as with any spell, the caster has to really want it. So it helps if you have a personal stake in the outcome. You know, like if he had tortured and killed a bunch of your relatives._

In addition to the requirements for choosing a vampire to re-ensoul, Annie also explained to me what has become known as the "Perfect Happiness Clause". If you're reading this, then chances are you are already familiar with the nature of this loophole, so I won't go into it here. What may not be understood , is the reasoning behind it. First of all, I'd like to make it clear that it has nothing to do with vengeance being a "living thing", as Enyos Kalderash so vehemently stated. In fact, vengeance was never the point at all. The spell's creators never intended it as a curse. Notice that it's called the _Ritual_ of Restoration, and not the _Curse_ of Restoration. The purpose was to restore the balance between good and evil that had been upset by an overindulgent vampire. The idea was that the vampire in question would be so guilt-ridden that he would spend his every waking hour trying to atone for his wicked ways. He'd save people instead of killing them, kill some vampires instead of siring them. Vengeance was simply a by-product, like the free gift with your Time-Life subscription.

Secondly, the spell was never intended to permanently alter a vampire's nature, but was meant solely as a means to an end. To put it in more mundane terms, when you get in your car to go to work, you don't keep driving once you're there, you stop. The "Perfect Happiness" you hear so much about was supposed to have been "Perfect Harmony" between the forces of good and evil, not contentment for the vampire. Apparently, the ritual Annie helped to perform had been translated, and rather poorly, from a much earlier version of the spell (which has since been lost), that stipulated the soul would be released into the ether once balance had been restored, as there would be no further need for it. Unfortunately, the original drafters of the spell were somewhat shortsighted, and failed to take into account what would happen once that vampire was suddenly freed from the restrictions placed on it by the presence of a soul, nor were they specific enough regarding the circumstances necessary to release said soul. Of course, this literary faux pas wasn't discovered until it was far too late to correct the mistake. By then the only recourse was to try to prevent the loophole from taking effect.

Satisfied with the explanation she received, Annie's anger subsided, and was replaced by an eagerness to get the spell underway. The Shuv'ani demanded her patience, however, saying that the Ritual would have to be put off until such time that Christiana was returned to them. When asked why this was so, The Shuv'ani explained that the re-ensoulment would result in some temporary disorientation. She cautioned that if the Ritual took effect while Christiana was still in Angelus' custody, particularly if he were actively engaged in tormenting her, the shock of it may be so traumatic for him that he would immediately take his own life. There was also the likelihood that Darla would discover his transformation and kill them both. With Christiana out of his hands, and laid to rest, there would be time for him to recover his memories more naturally, and Annie could be on hand to protect him from himself, and if necessary, from Darla as well.

As you could imagine, Annie was less than thrilled with the edict, but agreed the wisest course of action would be to wait. Though she had doubts that Christiana would ever be returned them, The Shuv'ani was confident that she would. Sure enough, Christiana's body was discovered in the woods just outside the camp that very evening. Angelus had nailed her naked corpse to a tree in a perfect imitation of Christ on the Cross, her arms outstretched across opposing branches, and her feet crossed at the ankles, and nailed together to the tree trunk. A personalized message for Annie had been carved into her torso. It said, "Happy Birthday, Annie."

Not wanting the rest of the clan to see her sister in such a state, Annie dislodged Christiana from the tree, wrapped her up in her own frock, and carried her back to camp herself. Ignoring the barrage of questions hurled at her from the rest of the tribe upon her arrival (because what was there to say, really?), Annie carried her deceased twin straight to her former living quarters, and set about the unpleasant task of preparing her for cremation. Outside, she could hear her new husband taking charge, ordering his people to prepare the funeral pyre.

Annie had just finished with her preparations, and was having a moment of quiet reflection, paying respects to her sister in her own way, when Jakob's brother Fredo came into the tent saying that The Shuv'ani was ready to begin whenever Annie was. Annie recalls her feelings at the time.

_It was all I could do to keep from turning around and decking him. I know it wasn't Fredo's fault (he was just the messenger), but it was the last thing I wanted to deal with at the moment. All I wanted to do was lay my sister to rest, then crawl under a rock and talk myself out of following her. Or into it. Jury was still out as to which one. Everything hurt. Every fiber of my being. It was literally like a piece of me died with her. I couldn't breathe, wasn't sure I even wanted to, and here comes Fredo making the choice for me. Like I said, I know he was just speaking for The Shuv'ani, but at that moment, I didn't care. He was the one intruding on my thoughts, so he was the one that was going to pay. Or would've if I hadn't taken the time to take a breath first, and collect myself._

Resigned to her fate, Annie gave her sister one last goodbye kiss on the forehead, then went to her tent, packed the bag she knew she would need, and reported to The Shuv'ani to perform the Ritual. She found the old woman had already laid out the necessary implements for the Spell, and was merely waiting for Annie to make her appearance. Annie was instructed to take a seat across from The Shuv'ani, and after a brief explanation of what was to occur, she cleansed the area with the bundle of sage provided, and recited the opening line of the Ritual. Annie recalls.

_The table was laid out with various herbs and stones, some scrying bones, and the Orb of Thesula on a pedestal in the middle of it all. Of course, then, I didn't know it was called that. To me it was just a shiny glass ball. But once we got started, that shiny glass ball started to fill up with a strange mist, and the air all around us seemed to be electrically charged. Like we were in the middle of a lightning storm, though it was a clear night. About midway through, the mist in the Orb started swirling together until it formed a solid gold light. It was the most amazing thing I'd seen until then. We were almost to the end when a felt a change in the atmosphere that had nothing to do with the Ritual. My hair stood on end and I felt this chill all over my body, and an almost uncontrollable urge to bolt. I wasn't sure what it meant at first, so I waited to see the Ritual to its end, thinking maybe it was just all the uber mojo in the air. As she completed the last lines, I got this crystal clear image in my head of Angelus running through the forest, and before I could interpret what it meant, The Shuv'ani croaked out the last words of the Spell and collapsed, dead. Heart attack, I guess. She __was__ very old, and the Ritual required a lot of energy. I guess it just sucked the life out of her._

Accustomed by this time to having people die on her, Annie, after assuring herself that The Shuv'ani was indeed dead and nothing could be done for her, bade her surrogate grandmother a final goodbye, stuffed the dead woman's notes into her satchel, and exited into the open encampment. There, near her dearly departed sister's funeral pyre, she found Sorin engaged in conversation with a man kneeling on the ground in front of him. With his back to her Annie was unable to identify the man at first, and roar of the wind and crackling of the bonfire prevented her from hearing the dialogue between the two men. As she cautiously approached them, she again felt the same chill wash over her that she had felt earlier, accompanied once more by the image of Angelus fleeing through the woods. It was only then that she recognized the disheveled man pleading, distraught, with her adoptive father. She drew near to the pair in time to see Angelus collapse into a broken heap at Sorin's feet, sobbing.

_I couldn't believe it. I didn't think it was possible. I didn't even think Angelus could cry. That he was even capable of the emotion it took produce tears, was a complete shock to me. But there he was, balling like a little baby. At first, I thought it had to be a mistake. It was someone else lying there, and I only thought it was Angelus. Had to be. It just wasn't possible. As I got closer, though, and the hairs on the back of my neck started doing their little dance again, I knew it was true. This dirty, crumpled mess in front me was Angelus. "Scourge of Europe". I almost felt sorry for the guy, seeing him reduced to that. __Almost. __I got over it pretty damn quick when I got a glimpse of Christiana's body on top of the fire._

Shouldering her bag, Annie locked eyes with Sorin over Angel's weeping form. No words were spoken, but the message was clear. Annie was to escort the emotionally castrated vampire out of the camp, never to see her surrogate family again. Nodding a wordless goodbye to the only real father she'd ever known, Annie whistled for her horse, and with a mixture of compassion and callousness, hauled Angel to his feet and put him on the horse which would carry them both back to his cottage. Unwilling to reveal her identity just yet, she carefully kept her face hidden from him, and only spoke once to demand, "Don't touch me," when he attempted to use her for support as they rode away.


	17. Annie and Angel

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Annie and Angel**

**No Home For You Here**

When Annie and Angel left the gypsy camp, Angel had only a vague notion of his crimes as Angelus- a fuzzy watercolor, some might say. He was aware that he had killed, and perhaps even had some idea of his recent interactions with Christiana, but the extent of his brutality, or the vast number of lives he had taken still escaped him. It wasn't until sometime after Annie dropped him off, that the stone cold reality finally set in, and he became the incoherent, babbling mess you may have heard tell about. So Annie felt no compunction about leaving him there alone. Not that she would have. After everything he had done just to her family alone, and particularly to her twin, he could just as soon rot as far as she was concerned. The small iota of concern she felt for him, at that time, was only due to the supposed world-saving destiny he apparently had, and the knowledge that if he died (by his own hand or another's) he would no longer have to pay for what he had done. And oh yeah. The world might end. That would suck. So she left Angel at the scene of his most recent crime, and knowing she would soon be the one responsible for his welfare, went into town for the necessary supplies.

After procuring herself a room at the local inn (single bed, much to her dismay) and gathering everything she thought she would need for her upcoming adventures in vamp sitting, Annie returned on foot to the woods, found herself a small clearing from which she could see Angel's cottage and settled down for a quiet evening of stalking. She couldn't resist allowing herself a small chuckle as it occurred to her that not too long ago _he_ had very likely been watching _her_ from the woods. Oh how the tables had turned.

Annie sat there in the woods, bracing herself from the chill Autumn wind, peering through the blackness towards Angel's cottage for what she says felt like an eternity. She began to think her vigil had been a waste of time, that either the Spell had gone wrong, that Darla was far more understanding than anyone gave her credit for, or that for whatever reason, she just simply wasn't coming home that night. After some undetermined amount of time, the excitement of the previous two days, good and bad, finally caught up with her, and she nodded off against the tree on which she was leaning. She awoke a few hours before dawn to the sounds of a domestic dispute coming from the cottage. In her words:

_It was the crash that woke me up. It sounded like glass breaking, like a vase, maybe. Then I heard Darla screeching like a banshee. The wind had picked up again, and was blowing away from me, towards the house, so I couldn't make out the words. But the feeling behind them was clear enough. She was pissed. I inched closer, and could make out a series of thuds, and sounds like furniture breaking. Probably all from her. Then the door to the cottage flew open, and I ducked behind a tree just in time to avoid being seen. I chanced a peek and almost laughed out loud. I literally had to clap a hand over mouth like this [demonstrates]to hold it in. Angelus- Angel, sorry. He was still Angelus to me then- was all sprawled out on the dirt, flat on his ass. And Darla's glaring down at him from the doorway with a __stake__ in her hand [mimes holding a stake]! Probably from a broken bit of furniture._

Annie waited to see how the scene would play out, ready (if not willing) to intervene on Angel's behalf if the situation called for it. After a moment or two, however, Angel's sense of self-preservation kicked in, and the distraught vampire turned, defeated, and fled for the center of town. Rather than trailing after him immediately, Annie remained hidden in the foliage waiting for Darla to retreat inside the house. She was instead treated to sight of the blond vampiress turning to head in the opposite direction from Angel, a look of grim determination on her face. Annie had a sinking suspicion that whatever the woman was up to couldn't be good, and desperately wanted to follow. She knew she couldn't hope to stand against her, however, and would probably perish. Besides, she was there for Angel, not Darla, so she assured herself that Darla's attention was averted elsewhere, and reluctantly followed the newly souled wreck back into town.

**Eu Sunt Monstru**

She tracked Angel to an alley, which coincidentally happened to lie directly below the window of Annie's rented room. Not yet ready to make official introductions, Annie paid him no heed and went directly to her room where she made use of the improved vantage point her second story window had to offer her. She settled herself as comfortably as possible into the window ledge and watched her new charge until she was satisfied he would be well protected from the sun's harmful rays. She couldn't help but be amused at the sight of him burrowing under the mounting pile of refuse which had also made its home in that alley.

Annie continued to keep a semi-watchful eye over Angel for the remainder of the night, while she intermittently dozed off in her perch in the window. She awoke with a start around midday to find the sun high the sky, streaming through her window, nearly blinding her, and barely preventing herself from toppling out the window into the garbage strewn alley below. Worried she may have failed in her duty to protect Angel, by sleeping through his fiery demise, Annie leaned out the window as far as she was safely able and quickly scanned the alley for signs of unlife. After a few heart-pounding moments, she spied a rat scrambling over a pile of rubble in search of sustenance. While the unwary rodent paused over the heap to pick at a potential meal, its tail dipped down into the debris, and almost too quickly for the human eye to see, was pulled down by an unseen force into the depths of the scrap pile, never to be seen again.

Satisfied that Angel hadn't been reduced to a pile of ash at the bottom of a garbage heap while she'd dozed in the window, and probably wouldn't for the remainder of the day, Annie allowed herself the luxury of some much needed rest in an actual bed, as opposed to the window and the bushes she'd slumbered in the night before. She left the window open to keep an ear out for sounds of trouble from the waste below. As expected, she was awakened sometime shortly after sunset, by the sounds of a scuffle in the alley, accompanied by an unmistakable voice shouting, "Eu sunt monstru!" , Romanian for, "I am a monster!" Instantly alert, Annie flew to the window to see what the commotion was, but her view was obstructed by surrounding buildings and the angle of her window. She quickly pulled her boots on, tying them hastily, and ran down in hopes of quashing the dispute before true tragedy struck.

By the time she found the source of the ruckus, about half a block away, the turmoil had already ended. The only evidence of anything having occurred at all was the faint sounds of whimpering in the distance, followed by a very distraught Angel stumbling out of the alley. Annie describes the encounter.

_If I thought he looked bad before, he was an absolute mess, now. Of course, considering he'd spent the day huddled in garbage, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was. I'd spent my whole life in constant fear of this man, and to see him now… __[shakes her head, slowly] __I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I compromised. I hit him. Clocked him right across the jaw. I must've packed quite a punch, cuz he went down like a ton of bricks. I don't know who it surprised more, me or him. He looked up at me, rubbing his jaw, and I think if he wasn't already dead, he would've dropped dead of a heart attack, right then. From the shock, I mean. His eyes got as big as sand dollars, and he starts doin' this weird crab-walk scooting on his ass thing, backing himself up till he was flush against a wall with nowhere to go. It was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing. He just looked so stupid down there like that. Looking at me like he thought I was gonna rip his testicles off and feed them to him. __[scoffs]__ Like I'd wanna get that close to his testicles._

_But somehow I managed to swallow it…__[off my look]__ Uh, my laughter, not, y'know… __[shakes head at my own giggle fit]__ Oh nevermind! So instead of laughing at him, I marched up like I was gonna do exactly what he thought I was gonna do, and gave him a good hard kick with the heel of my boot. No, not in the balls. The idea was to get him up… __[another look from me]__ Off the __ground__, you pervert! Y'know so I could get him inside before that someone set the authorities on him?_

For some reason, the bit about the testicles, got me on a roll that day, and everything she said just made it worse. The last bit sent her over the edge, and she threw one of my own throw pillows at me before saying I could "bloody well do [my] own homework" and write this without her, then storming out. It's generally not a good idea to piss off Annie, but I couldn't help it. And she was right. I had everything I needed to proceed without her. The Book was right in front of me; all I had to do was open it. I decided to enlist Angel's help.

**Awkward Bound**

You would think, Dear Reader, that it would've been easier to just crack open The Book and read what had already been written on the subject, and I might be inclined to agree with you. The problem with that is, I would then inevitably end up re-reading things that had already made me vomit the first time, which would in turn stir up memories I'd just as soon forget. Not that I ever could, of course. Not when I still had to use a cane to walk any significant distance. Not when I was treated to the sight of a still very prominent griffin-shaped burn scar on my left cheek every time I looked in the mirror (which wasn't often to be honest). Of course, seeing Angel wouldn't be any easier. It had only been three weeks since he'd returned from his vacation in Hell, two since he'd gotten his memory back. It was one thing when he was still just a mindless beast who didn't even know his own name, let alone what he had done. I'd had no problem, then, seeing him, talking to him, even taking care of him. Once he was himself again (mostly, anyway), it was a whole other ball of wax. I'd been avoiding him like the plague ever since he'd killed that Pete guy, except when I was there to keep an eye on Buffy.

I spent the next hour or so debating with myself over what would be easier, seeing Angel again, or reading the Family Diary. Ultimately, I convinced myself that A) It was time, B) At least with talking, I could have some control of the subject matter, rather than be inadvertently bombarded with things best left alone, and C) I could garner the tiniest bit of enjoyment from the fact that Angel likely didn't want to be confronted with our time together any more than I did. So, after polishing off the rest of the bottle of Jack Daniels I had been nursing throughout my internal debate, I selected an outfit with the intent of showing off as much of Angelus' handiwork as possible (without looking like a total skank), climbed into my van, and set the autopilot for Angel's place (it's not drunk driving if the van drives itself).

As I suspected, I arrived to find Buffy and Angel engaged in a meaningful lack of conversation. By that, I mean awkward silence punctuated by one or the other making a rather pitiful attempt at small talk, while Angel pointedly refrained from drinking the pig's blood Buffy had brought him, or even taking it out of the bag. Also as I suspected, Kestryl was perched on the outer rim of the room trying to pretend she didn't view Buffy's presence as an intrusion, and most definitely was not spying on them. Upon my arrival, both Slayer and vampire jumped up like they'd just been busted doing something illegal. For her part, Buffy recovered rather quickly, surprise turning almost instantly to guilt for socializing with the man who had caused the superhighway of scars snaking their way under and around my scant clothing. Angel wore an expression that was an almost equal mixture of guilt over what he'd done, fear of what I might to him in retaliation, and yet more guilt for continuing to have relations with the woman whose companionship had led him to causing the latticework of injuries he knew covered every inch of me, some which could only be seen through x-rays or ultrasound.

Immediately, both started stumbling around excuses for Buffy's presence, which I promptly stifled by holding up my right hand (which bore its own unmistakable mark of Angelus' artistry), and explaining that I didn't much care why Buffy was there, and just wanted to talk. Fear and guilt were replaced by relief and Buffy quickly excused herself saying she was just leaving anyway. Kestryl maintained her feigned lack of concern and didn't move from her spot, still pretending to read a book I knew she had no real interest in. I cleared my throat and threw a pointed glance in her direction indicating I wished to be alone with Angel (though I really didn't, to be honest), and would brook no argument on the matter. For a moment, it looked as though she would argue anyway, and I took a single step toward her punctuating the move very loudly with my cane, then turning my head slightly to the right, giving her a clear view of the burn which would not have occurred without Kestryl's assistance. That, and the fire in my gaze which was not merely metaphorical, convinced her that perhaps now was not the time for a confrontation, and she reluctantly left the premises, reminding Angel on her way out that she was "just a shout away".

Those first few moments alone with Angel were beyond awkward. I found myself nearly paralyzed by this irrational fear. I knew Angel would never willingly hurt me, and in fact wouldn't dare touch me, in any way, after everything that had happened. When Angelus had been roaming free in Sunnydale, I had been the most vocal about the differences between Angel and Angelus. No one, not even Buffy, knew better than I that they were not one in the same and should not ever be referred to as such. I had had no problem being alone with him, even feeding him, when he was feral, savage and about as cuddly as a rabid wolverine. Seeing him now, keeping his distance, looking properly contrite, and soulful, and everything that Angelus wasn't, all I could see when I looked at him, was Angelus stalking towards me, eyes filled with mal intent, snarling orders at me that I was powerless to refuse (thanks to a magical doodad he demanded I create as part of a deal I'd made with him to protect Buffy and her friends). Angel could see I was struggling with these memories, and attempted to put me at ease, speaking in soft tones, refraining from making sudden movements, as one might with a traumatized animal, and took a single involuntary, cautious step towards me. There is a fine line between cautious and calculating, though, and I took an involuntary step of my own- backward, hating myself for reacting this way, hating him for having caused it in the first place. He took the hint and remained where he was, while I inched around the room until the couch was between us.

In the past, Angel has been somewhat ignorant when it comes to interacting with people. As he himself has once stated, he has "two modes with people: bite, and avoid". This was not one of those times. This was one of those times when he's almost scary perceptive. I braced myself on the back of the couch, gripping it hard enough to turn my knuckles white, and took some deep breaths attempting to calm the irrational fear that had taken hold of me since Buffy and Kestryl had left. I let my eyes close briefly, long enough to realize that was the last thing that was going to help, and opened them to find Angel sliding along the wall that held the fireplace, much the way I had just slid behind the couch. I watched him move as if to sit in front of the hearth. Then, he appeared to change his mind, and moved back the other way until he was well out of arm's reach of the fireplace tools. He eased forward just far enough to grab hold of the armchair and pull it towards him, so he could sit down without encroaching on any part of what might be considered my personal space. He sat down, and folded his hands in his lap, looking at me as if to say, "See? It's just me here. I'm just gonna sit here and not do anything, and not talk, and wait till you're ready." That did the trick. I'm not saying I forgave him, or anything. I don't think I ever could, or should. I think it would be insulting to both of us. But the fact that he was able to determine exactly the right thing to do, on his own, with no other cues, then do only that, instead of bumbling around impotently like he was prone to do on occasion, was just what I needed to be able to relax enough to discuss the purpose for my visit. I followed his cue, and sat on the farthest end of the couch from where he sat in his chair, then explained what I was there to discuss. Following is a transcript of that discussion.

_**Excerpt from Discussion:**_

_**Angel, Rowynne E. Crowley**_

**Row: (deep breath) I know you're not him. In my brain, I know it. But it's hard. Y'know?**

**Angel**: (nods) I understand. (leans forward, briefly, then off my involuntary reaction, sits back, curling himself into the corner of the chair) If it makes you feel better, it's (pauses to consider word choice) difficult for me, too.

**Row: (nods) It doesn't, but thanks. (adopts a similar posture, hugging knees to chest)**

**Angel: **Rowynne, I-

**Row: (interrupts, raising a hand) Don't. Okay? (shifts uncomfortably) Th-that's not why I'm here.**

**Angel**: (confused)Okay.

**Row: I wanted to talk to you about Annie.**

**Angel: **(surprised, shifts) Oh… Um, okay. Wh-what do you wanna know? Because you know, I never wanted-

**Row: (interrupts) I know. I wanted to talk about the night you met. In the alley?**

**Angel: **(relieved?) Oh.

**Row: I was talkin' to Annie about it, but she kept putting her foot in her mouth, and I couldn't stop laughing. So she got mad and left.**

**Angel:** (slight smile) Okay…So, where did she leave off?

**Row: Her clocking you in the chops, and you crab-walking into a wall. She said she wanted to kick you in the balls.**

**Angel: **(chuckles) Yeah. Can't say that I blame her. I was pretty pathetic. I would've kicked me in the balls, too.

**Row: She didn't, though.**

**Angel: **(shakes his head) No.

**Row: But she did kick you.**

**Angel: **Yeah.

**Row: Where? (Angel shifts to his right, to indicate his left hip) Did it hurt?**

**Angel: **Yeah! She packed quite a wallop. (I raise my eyebrows at his word choice) And she used her heel. Those things were pointy! And I wasn't exactly at my fighting best.

**Row: Then what happened?**

**Angel: **Well, she kinda yanked me up onto my feet, maybe like you would a child? I-it's sorta better if I show you?

A demonstration of that ilk called for a kind of closeness I was not quite ready to engage with Angel. After all I'd been through with him the previous winter, there was no way in hell I was going to let him put his hands on me in that fashion (or any other, when you got right down to it). He offered to let me demonstrate on him, with him telling me where to put my hands, but even that was a bit much for me, as it would still involve me touching him, which was something I never wanted to do again. And I'd certainly had more than enough of him telling me where to put my hands. I understood that he only wanted to give me a clearer picture of what had happened, but as he'd once pointed out to me, what your brain thinks, and what your body feels, are often two totally different things. I was about to explain all this to Angel, but in yet another example of that rare perceptive streak of his, he immediately noticed my discomfort and spent the next five minutes verbally flogging himself and stumbling over the apology I wouldn't let him get out earlier. It was not a conversation I was yet ready to have, so I waved him off, telling him to just describe the scene as best as he could without me.

**A Clean Start**

According to Angel, after delivering the devastating heel-kick to his hip, Annie reached out and grabbed up a handful of his hair from the top of his head in her right hand, put a vice-like grip on his right ear in her left hand, and half yanked, half dragged him to his feet, before shoving him towards the hotel with the admonition to "keep your head down, and don't talk", lest someone recognize him as having to do with the ruckus a few minutes before. They made it to Annie's room without incident, and had barely made it inside before Annie, ignoring Angel's questions, ordered him to strip out of the foul-smelling rags that no longer qualified as clothing. After some feeble protests, he obeyed, handing her the tattered remnants as she requested. Without so much as a word of explanation, Annie accepted the proffered articles and exited the room, leaving Angel standing alone in the middle of the room as naked as the day he was born, feeling about as in place a milk bucket under a bull, and just as confused. If milk buckets could be confused, that is. A few minutes later, Annie returned with a basin of water, which she proceeded to set on the table while she gathered up the towels and rags she had procured the previous evening. Angel recalls.

_**I had no idea what to expect. She hadn't said a word that wasn't an order of some kind. And even then she kept it down to a handful of words. Then she just left me there. Naked. I didn't know what to do, or if she was even coming back. I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. So I just stood there. Waited to see if she came back. When she finally did come back with the water, she looked… annoyed. Like she'd expected to find something else. I don't know what. And I thought for sure it was holy water in that basin. I certainly deserved it. So I squeezed my eyes shut and steeled myself for whatever was next. I could hear her moving things around the room, but couldn't tell what she was doing and didn't dare look. Wasn't really sure I wanted to know, y'know? Well, next thing I knew she's dragging me across the room by my elbow- almost made me fall- and then practically threw me into a chair.**_

Angel barely had time to recover from being flung across the room and slammed into the hard wooden chair before he was treated to another not so pleasant experience. Annie's kneecap made sudden contact with his exposed genitalia, as she used the chair for support, to better reach her intended victim. As he reflexively doubled over in pain, she caught his face in her right hand with the moistened cloth, then shoved his head harshly back into her left. She gripped his hair against the scalp to hold his head in place, while she roughly began scrubbing the dirt and grime from his face. Wincing against the testicular pain that seemed to show no sign of letting up any time soon, Angel tried to mentally prepare himself for the burning sensation he was certain would soon follow the washcloth to the face. When no such symptom presented itself, he was able to relax slightly while she tended to the business at hand. His relief was tempered, however, by the continuing and seemingly increasing pressure on his groin, courtesy of Annie's knee, and the ruthlessly vigorous scrubbing of his face. Angel elaborates:

_**She was brutal! I'm pretty sure she drew blood from scrubbing so hard. And to this day, I still have no idea if she was being deliberate or not. She never let on one way or another, except for that little self-satisfied smirk she sometimes gets. You know the one. You're doing it now. And she still hadn't said a word, not even a syllable. No introductions, not that I needed one, and no explanations whatsoever. Not about why she was there, or for that matter, why I was there, or what her intentions were, or… I don't know… Why I was NAKED! I could've asked, I guess, but considering she still had her knee pressed into my crotch, I really didn't wanna risk pissing her off. She was bringing tears to my eyes as it was.**_

Annie kept up the silent treatment, as well as the intentional or accidental assault on Angel's person (even jabbing him in the eye once or twice) until she had thoroughly scrubbed every last speck of dirt (not to mention a few skin cells) from his face. When she was satisfied with her handiwork, she turned back to the bowl of water, made a face at the murky blackness within, and stood, finally speaking her first non-commanding words to Angel: "I'll be back," before once again disappearing out the door. Angel took the opportunity to massage his bruised genitals and confirm that his face still had skin on it. After tending to his two primary concerns, Angel finally allowed himself to relax for a moment and ponder his situation.

Though clearly displeased by his presence, or perhaps by his entire existence, Annie apparently didn't mean him any serious harm. His personal safety no longer in question, he was now able to contemplate the other questions that had been plaguing him since his rather harsh rescue from the alley. That's exactly how he saw it- as a rescue. He had no doubt he would soon have found himself fleeing angry vigilantes had he remained there. Assuming he managed to survive such an attack, the sun's harmful rays the next day would also be an issue. He loathed the idea of spending one more day huddled under a pile of garbage, and had to admit that while his forced state of undress was awkward, to say the least, being relieved of his malodorous, filth-encrusted clothing was, well, a relief. But that didn't explain why he was naked. Yes, his clothes were nasty. No one knew that better than he. But surely, a blanket, or even a towel would not have been unreasonable. Even a handkerchief would've been nice. Surprisingly, though, the reason behind his nudity was not his top concern. What he really wanted to know, besides the duration of his disrobed state, was why Annie bothered with him at all, given her obvious and well-earned abhorrence of him, if not to kill him. What did she want with him? What would his future hold?

True to her word, Annie returned a few minutes later, her basin once again filled with fresh, clean, albeit cold, water. She set the bowl back on the table, then turned to look at Angel, her head cocked slightly, as if considering something. Without warning, she bent down and pulled the chair away from the table, turning it so that Angel faced the door, with his back to the table. Angel did his best to suppress an amused smirk of his own at the maneuver, as the action caused Annie's face to find itself in very close proximity to his still exposed lap. If he was unsuccessful, Annie appeared not to notice, nor did she seem to notice the position she'd just put herself in, or Angel's involuntary biological response to it. The vampire rearranged to her liking, Annie moistened her rag once more, and set about removing the grime from the remainder of Angel's exposed flesh. She started with the fingertips of his right hand, using a brush to attack the grit under his nails, then gradually worked her way between the fingers, then around the arm, up to the shoulder, and back down the side of his torso where his arm would law once she allowed him to lower it. As she did this, she finally broke her self-imposed vow of silence to address some of the issues that had been circling Angel's mind.

The first of these issues to be discussed was Annie's identity. More specifically, she asked Angel to confirm that he was, in fact, aware of her identity. He admitted he was, and she informed him that she knew what he'd done to her sister, that she had actually seen the results of his assault on Christiana before he had cleaned her up and nailed her to the tree. She described the scene to him in vivid detail, making sure he understood the full scope of what he had done. Remembering his crimes was one thing, having them recited back to him in full Technicolor detail was quite another. As he and I sat in his mansion discussing it one hundred years later, he admitted to me that that was probably the single most painful thing she could've done to him, which was likely her intention.

As she finished with his right arm and moved across his chest to start all over with his left, she explained why she wasn't allowing him to tend to his own bathing needs. The simple answer was that he smelled. Angel recites the more involved answer.

_**She said I smelled worse than anything she'd ever smelled. I didn't think it was that bad, but who am I to argue? So she said if we were going to be stuck with each other, then she wanted to make sure I was clean. She wanted it done right. I think it might also have been a revenge thing, but she didn't say so. [shrug] So I figured I might as well go along with it. Whatever made her happy, right? And in any other situation, I guess it might've been neat.**_

That question answered, Annie continued Angel's brutal baptism by soap, methodically scrubbing every inch of him, while the unlikely pair attempted to make small talk in an effort to relieve some of the tension between them. They quickly abandoned that plan when they realized there was no safe topic for discussion. Every topic would eventually come back to Angel being a vampire, and his actions as same. They lapsed into an awkward silence, broken only when Annie asked Angel to move this way or that, to allow her better access, or when she excused herself to change the water, which she did several times before she was done. When she had thoroughly scoured all but his most private of areas, she handed Angel the cloth, instructing him to finish himself off. The entire process had already called for an uncomfortable level of intimacy, and despite wanting to make sure it was "done right", Annie had no desire to increase that intimacy in any way, shape or form. Her face was a mask of cold detachment as she watched intently, seeing that he left no stone unturned, nary a crumb of garbage residue remaining.

For some strange reason, Angel felt the need, here, to interrupt his recollections to ask if I knew how awkward and uncomfortable it was to be in such a situation. I never wanted so badly to kill somebody, before or since, as I wanted to kill Angel in that moment. For him to say that to _me_, of all people, was the most insensitive, idiotic thing he's ever said, and Angel's had some doozies. He knew quite well how familiar I was with that situation, and so much worse. "Awkward" does not even begin to describe the tortures I endured during the month I spent as Angelus' captive. I'd consider myself lucky if a simple washing was the worst activity he had forced me to participate in, all the name of protecting the Slayer from his depraved brutality. I let him know in no uncertain terms that his query was unacceptable, and appropriately shamed, he continued his tale.

_**So then I asked her what the point of all of it was. Why she didn't just kill me. Why give me a soul? Why didn't she just leave me to rot in the alley. That's when she goes into the whole cosmic order thing you all are always going on about. She said she had to keep me alive, so that Christiana's death would mean something. That if anything happened to me, then it all would've been for nothing, and she couldn't have that.**_

**Shave and a Haircut**

When she was satisfied of his cleanliness, Annie emptied the basin out the window, used it to store the soiled rags, then handed Angel a towel to dry himself. She rummaged around in her bag until she pulled out a set of fresh clothes, a tin cup, and a small leather case that could have been wallet. Handing the pants to Angel, and directing him to put them on, she left the room one last time, carrying the cup and the basin. She returned a moment later with only the cup. She set it on the nightstand, while she collected the leather case, opening it to reveal a small barber's kit, and set that on the nightstand as well. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, and instructed Angel bring his towel and the chair to where she sat, placing the chair in front of her, so that he would be facing her when he sat down.

Angel's eyes widened with trepidation as he realized what she had in mind. He knew he was in need of a shave, but the prospect of this woman, who clearly loathed him, and had every reason to want him dead despite her assurances to the contrary, wielding a blade so near his jugular, filled him with the kind of terror he had once prided himself on instilling in his victims. Feeling it was pointless to argue, Angel swallowed his fear and reluctantly did as he was told. While waiting for Annie to prepare her tools, he attempted, and failed, to allay his fears by reminding himself that she had already had numerous opportunities to cause him deadly harm, yet hadn't. Also lending credence to Annie's insistence that she wanted him alive, was the fact of his soul. It didn't make much sense to go to all the trouble of cursing him, just to kill him the next day. Since none of these arguments did anything to ease his mind, he simply accepted that he deserved whatever fate Annie saw fit to bestow upon him. If that fate was death, then at least he would be relieved of the guilt that had been consuming him since the restoration of his soul.

Annie wrapped the towel around his shoulders, then quickly and expertly removed the two days' worth of hair growth from his angelic face and throat. She nicked him but a handful of times, and Angel suspected it was on purpose. It was clear to him after the first few strokes, that she was well practiced at the art. Each pass of the blade was executed by a steady hand with surgical precision. If that wasn't enough to convince him the cuts had been deliberate, the mischievous gleam in her eye, the satisfied smirk on her lips, and the sarcastic apologies that issued from them removed all doubt.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally laid down the razor and dabbed his face (gently, for once) with the towel. For the first time since their meeting, Annie's gaze appeared to soften towards him, as she surveyed her handiwork. She ran the back of her hand along his cheek, admiring the smoothness of his now stubble-free skin. Pleased with the results, she allowed herself a small smile, which Angel reflexively returned, reaching up to clasp the hand that was still lightly caressing his jaw line. Her reaction was immediate. She snatched her hand back with surprising speed, grabbing a pair of scissors from her kit in almost the same motion, as she admonished him, suddenly incensed, "Don't touch me!" Apparently, it was all right for her to touch him, but was absolutely unacceptable for him to touch her.

Her eyes returned to their former cold glare, and her lips pressed together into a thin grim line, every trace of humor gone from her face. Scissors in hand, she was behind Angel faster than even his keen vampire senses could follow her. I suspect this may be one of the first instances of Annie teleporting, the first being the morning she discovered her sister missing. She was likely completely unaware that she had done it. Gone was the surgical precision with which she'd shaved his developing beard, replaced with quick, furious motions as she began cutting large and seemingly random chunks from his hair with reckless abandon.

Afraid to move, or say anything that might further incur her wrath (especially while she held scissors), Angel sat helpless and crestfallen as he watched his once gorgeous locks tumble to the hardwood floor, reminiscent of the dead leaves that had already begun falling from their branches outside. A haircut may seem like such a small thing, but for Angel it was tantamount to losing a limb. He had kept his hair long for as far back as he could remember, and it was the source of a good deal of his pride. Without it, he would feel more naked than he had felt during his recent sponge bath. It was _his hair_! He tried to soothe his nerves by telling himself it probably wasn't as bad as it seemed. Perhaps he would even look good with short hair. That hope was quickly destroyed, though, when he realized she wasn't merely giving him a haircut; she was cutting it all off. The blades cut dangerously close to his scalp, and he would not have been surprised to find bits of his own flesh mixed in with the discarded hair.

Having clipped as much of his beautiful tresses as the scissors would allow, Annie finally, mercifully, put down the dreaded implements, leaning her left hand on his shoulder for support. Angel's relief lasted only a moment, quickly changing to fear when Annie reached once again for the straight-razor. He reached out to stay her hand, catching himself a hair's breadth from touching her, as he recalled the results of his earlier foolhardy attempt. He opted for the verbal approach instead, pleading with her to let him shave his own head. Leaving the razor on the nightstand, she stood upright again, placing her right hand on his shoulder so that now both hands rested on his shoulders. She argued that since he couldn't see himself, there was no way he'd be able to manage such a feat. He cautiously explained to her that given her current state of ire, he feared she would peel his head like a potato. He sensed an immediate change in her demeanor, as the grip on his shoulders relaxed and she slowly exhaled. She let go of him, and moved around to reclaim her seat on the bed in front of him. She met his eyes directly, her own having regained some of their earlier kindness. As though speaking to a child, she assured him she would make every effort to not peal his head. He voiced his assent, and she advised him that as long as he held perfectly still, only moving when told, then all would be well. He indicated that he understood, and she rose, resuming her post behind him.

It seemed to Angel that Annie's personality underwent a complete heel turn, after that conversation, and it went a long way towards teaching him how to deal with her, without inspiring her anger. He filed this information away for future use, intending to test his theories later, when she was no longer within easy reach of a sharp weapon. As she covered his scalp with a thin layer of the shaving soap, Annie rewarded Angel's fearful admission with a confession of her own. While she had shaved plenty of faces over the years, this was to be the first time she had ever shaved a head. It wasn't exactly the thing one wanted to hear from a person who was about to take a knife to one's head, but it marked the beginning of the pair's first relaxed conversation, and Angel found he was grateful for it. He realized, then, what he wanted most from this uneasy partnership was a friend. It occurred to him that he'd never really had one before, that didn't revolve around drinking, gambling, or murdering. He vowed at that moment that he would do everything he could to earn Annie's friendship, even knowing that he didn't deserve it, and might never have it.

Acting on his desire to make her his friend, he apologized for presuming to touch her following his shave. To his surprise and glee, she responded by admitting she may have overreacted a bit. He kept his joy to himself, however, fearing that such a revelation might inspire another mood swing. He wanted to keep the atmosphere light for as long as possible, reveling in her new positive attitude towards him. There was a marked difference in how she treated him now, when compared to the ferocity with which she had tended to him earlier in the evening. Whereas before, it seemed she had gone out of her way to bring him pain, she now appeared to be taking great care to avoid causing him harm. Each swipe of her blade was slow and deliberate, and even the manner with which she moved his head to suit her needs was surprisingly gentle. She managed to nick him only once, in the fleshy part at the base of his skull, and when she did, she actually apologized (sans sarcasm), dabbing softly at the wound with her thumb until the bleeding had stopped. Wanting to avoid a similar disaster with the area around his ears, she asked (yes, asked!) him to swivel sideways in his chair. This time, she avoided his more sensitive areas, as she straddled one of his legs for support, and gently cradled his head to her chest, very carefully shaving around his ears. Angel relished the contract, and allowed his eyes to slip closed while she worked, taking in her scent, and listening to her heart beat out its calm, steady rhythm. He detected another sound coming from deep within, as well, but couldn't quite place it. Just when Angel found himself slipping into a kind of contentment he had never felt before, either as a human or a vampire, the contact, as well as the moment, was broken. Annie released him and was across the room before his mind had time to register the change.

**Ties That Bind**

Disappointed, he wiped the remnants of shaving soap from his now shiny pate. He watched her bring him the rest of the new clothes she had for him, laying them on the bed in front of him, and couldn't help but notice that she now refused to look at him. He wondered if he had done something wrong, but was at a loss as to what it might be. He pulled on the crisp white shirt, which was not unlike the one he had started out with, and continued watching her warily, as he worked the buttons. She pulled a simple nightdress out of her bag, and started to undress, before she caught him watching and wordlessly indicated he should turn around. When she gave him the green light to turn back, he was dismayed to find that not only had she donned bedclothes, but she was also holding a rather long rope, and again the humor was gone from her eyes. Keeping up with Annie's mood swings, Angel was learning, was like trying to rope the wind. How was he ever going to fulfill his promise to himself, if she couldn't seem to let him into her heart for more than five minutes?

Before he really had time to ponder that, or the question of the rope (to which he suspected he already knew the answer), Annie turned to him from closing the shutters, and asked if he wanted to "stretch his legs" before turning in for the night, which would soon be day. His suspicions were confirmed. She intended to tie Angel to the hard wooden chair, while she slept comfortably in the soft warm bed. From the looks of the rope, it appeared Annie was leaving nothing to chance with regards to his confinement. Angel supposed the rope was long enough to tie two of him to two chairs together, and still wrap it around several times over. He tried to reason with her that such drastic measures were unnecessary. Angel relays that conversation.

_**I told her I had no intention of leaving, or whatever else she thought I was gonna do. She didn't have to tie me up. Then she looks me in the eye and says…**_[he hesitates, here, afraid to say anything to incur my wrath, as our relationship was still quite strained. I tuck my hands tightly under my arms, and nod for him to continue. Leaning forward in his seat, he goes on.] _**She says, "Angelus, you attacked innocent people tonight. You raped, tortured, and killed my sister, and God knows what else to countless others. Soul or no soul, I cannot leave you running loose, while I lie sleeping." **_[shrug]_** What could I say? She was right. I had done those things. In her position, I probably would've tied me up too. I should've just said that and shut my mouth, but you know how I like to stick my foot in it. Always saying the wrong thing. **_[grim smile]_** I told her I didn't wanna be called Angelus anymore. Why I picked that moment, I'll never know. I guess I thought- **_[shakes head] _**I don't know what I thought. But she said she'd call me Angel when I had "earned the title."**_

I couldn't resist the urge to interrupt him to ask if he had ever "earned the title". He responded by asking if I thought he had. After all he had put me through the previous winter, I really wanted to tell him, "No," but as I've said before, Angel is _not_ Angelus. I searched his eyes, thinking on everything I knew about him, from my own experiences as well as those relayed to me by others. As Angel, he had already saved more lives, slain more demons, than I could ever hope to count. I knew he remembered every single one, just like he remembered and mourned every single life he had taken. He had even killed his own sire to save the Slayer. Deep down I knew, still know, that had he been able, he would have killed himself to save me from my ordeal at the factory. Did I think he had earned his moniker? Maybe he had, maybe he hadn't. If he hadn't, he was certainly well on his way.

Annie didn't speak for the rest of the night, and Angel never did figure out what he did wrong, or if her mood swing had anything to do with him at all. She never said, just sat on the bed, writing in The Book, while Angel "stretched his legs". For the most part, this meant cleaning up the mess made by his haircut and shave, returning the chair to its rightful place, then alternately sitting down, and pacing around the room. There were moments when he thought about leaving. He could just walk out the door, and not look back. That begged the question of where he would go. He really had nowhere to go. The sun would be up soon, too soon for him to find alternate lodgings, with no money. It was this or the trash heap. Even if he could make suitable arrangements elsewhere, would Annie try to stop him? Could he fight back if she did? Angel didn't think so. He hadn't fed since he had finished off Christiana, save for the rat he had been lucky enough to catch from under the alley refuse, and that unfortunate woman he met just after waking. He was hungry, and he was exhausted. He hadn't rested since his sleep had been disturbed by Annie caterwauling outside his cottage. Watching Annie move about the room, he had seen that she was in far better shape than he at the moment. It was clear she had taken excellent care of her body over the years. Her limbs were well toned- taut and muscular- and she moved with a predatory grace. A predator himself, he could easily spot it in others. He also could not forget how earlier, she had moved too quickly for even his vampire eyes to track. If it came down to a fight between them, he was certain he could not take her, not in his current state.

Less than an hour later, Annie finished up her writing, stood, yawned and stretched, and asked Angel if he was ready. He turned from staring out the window and offered one more feeble protest as Annie picked up the rope. Knowing that her precautions were justified, his heart wasn't really in the plea. His prior actions that evening and his mounting hunger further confirmed in his mind that Annie was right to restrain him. When she predictably denied his appeal, Angel silently nodded, closed the shutters again, then turned back to face her, waiting for direction. Annie appeared to have relaxed from earlier, having apparently undergone another mood swing. She allowed him to make the decision of where he wanted to spend his confinement, in relation to the rest of the room. She visibly softened when he asked if he could sit next to her while she slept, and he made another mental note in his internal Guide to Dealing with Annie. She agreed, and moved one of the two nightstands out of the way, to accommodate his chair, so that he could sit flush against the wall.

Angel sat down, stretching out his joints and muscles in preparation for his upcoming chair sentence. Annie instructed him to clasp his hands together, holding them out in front of his chest. He obeyed, then stopped her just as she began wrapping his wrists to inquire whether a pillow would be too much to ask. Slightly exasperated, but wishing only to ensure her own sense of security, and not his discomfort, she surveyed the room to determine if his request was feasible. The twin bed had only one pillow, which she was not willing to part with. She spied her cloak lying haphazardly on the corner of the bed, and the clothes she had worn that day strewn over her satchel. He grabbed the dress, rolled it into a crude bundle, then folded the cloak in half from top to bottom. She carried both to where Angel sat, placed the bundled dress on top of the chair behind his neck, and looped the folded cloak over the back of the chair and the dress. Angel smiled his thanks and added another check in his favor on his mental score card.

That bit of business taken care of, Annie had Angel reposition his hands as she'd previously instructed. She wound the rope tightly around his wrists and forearms, and had him test the bond's effectiveness before allowing him to lay his arms on his lap. She then wrapped the rope around both his arms and his lap several times and again told him to test for weakness. She repeated the pattern with his legs, securing first one, then the other to the legs of the chair, then used the remainder of the rope to bind his upper arms to his torso, and both to the chair. When she was reasonably assured he would remain confined for the duration of her slumber, she bade her undead companion a good night, tucked herself into bed, and extinguished oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.


	18. Primal Instincts

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Primal Instincts **

**Desperately Seeking Annie**

Despite his discomfort at being tightly bound to a chair, Angel somehow managed to doze, off and on, exhaustion and lack of sustenance finally taking over. His dreams were filled with the screams of innocents as his brain replayed his passed crimes over and over. The scenes were vividly detailed, as if he were, indeed, reliving the horrors he had perpetrated- with one small difference. In his dreams, he had a soul, yet was powerless to prevent himself from committing the atrocities that played out before him. At one point, the screams of his victims reached such a feverish pitch, that they seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

He startled awake to find he was still tied to the chair in the tiny room at the inn, and the screams from his nightmares were real. They were Annie's screams, as she thrashed about on the bed next to him, apparently in the grips of a terrible nightmare, herself. Angel feared that he might be the subject of that nightmare, and if that was the case, he could only imagine the terror she must be experiencing from the depths of her mind. He wanted desperately to shake her, to rouse from her horrors, save her from whatever demons were plaguing her sleep, but bound as he was, he was powerless to do anything. Then again, perhaps it was best that he couldn't touch her. If it was truly Angelus she saw in her dreams, then waking up to find Angel gripping her about the shoulders may not be the best way to return to the waking world. Unable to do anything else, he did the only thing he could. He began calling her name, over and over, as loud as he dared so as not to disturb the other guests, until he finally broke through to her subconscious, bringing her back to reality.

Suddenly, she bolted upright in bed, apparently still in the grips of her nightmare. As her breathing gradually approached normal, she hastily took in her surroundings, until her gaze finally settled on Angel. She appeared not to notice that he was securely tied up, or that he was now bald, and quickly rolled to the opposite side of the bed, leapt to her feet, and bounded to the far corner before Angel had time register what had happened. She stood there, eyes wide, chest heaving, hand over her heart, for what seemed like an eternity, but was in all likelihood only a minute or two. Watching warily for signs that Annie might attack, wondering what he could about it if she did, Angel tentatively tested his bonds, trying to get a hand free should he need it. He focused his keen predatory senses on her alone, alert to any changes in her body that might indicate what was to come. He watched her chest rise and fall, as she slowly reclaimed her grip on reality. He could see as well as hear the blood pulsating through her veins in perfect rhythm with the pounding of her heart. Fear, though not of him, wafted off of her like the smell of fresh baked bread. Underneath all that, Angel detected something else- another scent, another sound- that he couldn't quite identify. Whatever it was, he wanted it, and he began working more feverishly at his bonds in an effort to get it.

Without warning, Annie came back to reality, and met Angel's stare. He froze, hoping she hadn't seen what he was doing. She didn't seem to, as she uttered a hasty, "I have to go," and glided back to the dresser. With Annie's back to him, Angel resumed trying to free himself from the ties that bound him. Annie had done her job thoroughly, so he had little success. He continued watching her, like a child watches his mother while sneaking a cookie, every sense still finely tuned exclusively to her frequency. Annie seemed to have either forgotten he was there, or ceased to care as she carelessly threw off her nightgown, and began digging through her bag for a fresh outfit. For Angel, time seemed to slow to a crawl, as his every sense went into hyperdrive, reawakening his hunger with a vengeance. The sound of blood flowing through her veins like a babbling brook, and her heart beating in her chest like a bass drum sounded almost as if they were his own. Her exposed flesh, so smooth and unmarred, awakened a different kind of hunger, as unbidden memories of Christiana suddenly consumed him. His skin tingled as he recalled how she had struggled beneath him. It was as if he could still feel her flesh writhing against his own, still taste her blood, tinged with sweet terror as he drank deeply from her veins again and again.

As Annie slipped on her dress and turned to face him, Angel couldn't help but notice that she hadn't bothered donning any undergarments. As he involuntarily ran his tongue over his teeth, cutting himself on his own fangs, his world instantly came back into focus. Realizing what was happening to him, he immediately halted all efforts to free himself, thinking perhaps he was exactly where he needed to be. He struggled to suppress his demon nature, thankful that she had been too preoccupied with slipping her boots on and lacing them to notice his momentary lapse to the dark side. Annie finished dressing and approached Angel for the first time since waking from her nightmare. She moved as if to untie him, oblivious to the internal struggle between his demon nature and his human soul. As she reached for his restraints, Angel stopped her, suggesting that now maybe wasn't the best time to release him. She stepped back, studying him quizzically, then finally understood. She moved back to the dresser, explaining on her way that she didn't see the need to leave him tied up alone while the sun was high in the sky. She pulled an ornate silver boot knife out of her pack, then cautiously advanced on Angel with the knife. Without a word, she placed the hilt in his clasped hands. Then, giving him a quick kiss on top of the head, she snatched her cloak off the back of his chair, inadvertently draping the previous day's dress across his shoulder as she swept out of the room.

Not sure how to react, Angel sat there a moment, absent-mindedly twirling the knife between his palms. His head tingled a bit where Annie had unexpectedly kissed him, and he smiled slightly, closing his eyes while he savored the memory. The scent of her floated up from her dress, permeating his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, turning his head to the side to take in more of her fragrance. Again, he was reminded of Christiana, his most recent kill. He recalled the taste of her blood as it had flowed over his fangs, filling his mouth and finally coursing down his throat, and was overcome by a bloodlust he hadn't felt since crawling out of his grave a century and a half before. He found himself craving her the way living creatures craved oxygen. This brought his mind to Annie, her identical twin. He imagined she would taste just as sweet, maybe even more so due to that mysterious something he had now sensed in her twice and still could not identify. He remembered watching her change, how badly he had wanted her then, in every sense of the phrase. He still wanted her. He thought if he hurried, he might still catch her before she made it all the way out of the building. Instantly, his soul rebelled, screaming at him for thinking such horrible things about the woman who had taken it upon herself to care for him, when by all rights, she should be killing him.

This triggered a flood of unwelcome memories. Christiana, as she screamed herself hoarse, pleading for a mercy that would never come. The woman in the alley, who had thought he was beggar and tried to help him, only to be savagely attacked for her efforts. His parents, who may not have been perfect, but did the best they knew how. His baby sister, who had adored him and had been devastated when he left home that fateful night. His own children that he hadn't known he had, until it had been far too late for him to care. One hundred and fifty years' worth of innocent men, woman, and children, whose only crime had been the misfortune to cross his path. Faster and faster the images came, until they flashed by so quickly and were so numerous they could not have been viewable on a T.V. flashback. Still, Angel saw the faces and bodies of every victim just as clearly as if they were standing before him. It all became too much for him, and grief stricken, Angel slumped against his restraints, his tears flowing like innocent blood.

He stayed that way for the rest of the day, wallowing in his own grief and self-pity, completely unaware of the passage of time. The knife hung loosely in his grasp, and would have fallen to the floor, if not for Annie's superb knot-tying holding it in place. His newly restored human soul showed him no more mercy than he had shown his victims, as his mind continued to replay its montage of death over and over. Coherent thought was rendered impossible as the screams of the dead echoed in his brain at a deafening pitch, drowning out even the cacophony of sounds assaulting his ears from every direction. Angel desperately tried to escape the nightmarish memories by becoming one with the wall behind him. When this failed, he lifted his head intending to smash it against the wall, and noticed the light which had seeped in between the shutters all day had now disappeared.

The room was bathed in darkness, and Annie had still not returned. Angel feared the worst, and instantly blamed himself. If only he had done this or that differently, Annie would be safe at home now, or at least safe at the inn. He gripped the knife with renewed determination and began sawing feverishly at his bindings. The ropes fell away faster than he would have thought possible, even with his demonic strength and speed. He was up and out the door in mere moments, only to be assaulted with the scent of fresh, warm blood all around him, nearly freezing him in his tracks. He closed his eyes momentarily to regain focus, and pushed through the hunger that compelled him to devour everyone in sight.

Outside, the light autumn breeze brought him the sweet aroma of even more potential victims. Temptation waited around every corner, and it was all he could do to resist his primal urges. Even the weight of his soul could not suppress his thirst. The cries of his previous victims could not drown out the call of the wild. He felt his resolve weakening, and he began to succumb to his overwhelming need. Easy prey was everywhere he turned and bloodlust threatened to overtake him, but he had never been one to be ruled by hunger alone, and not just any prey would do. As always, he had a very specific craving that could not be sated by random passersby. He forced himself to inaction in the middle of the road, ignoring the annoyed shouts of carriage drivers, as he blocked their path. He closed his eyes once more, and took some unnecessary breaths as he attempted to filter out all sounds and smells that did not belong to his intended.

As if by divine intervention, a sharp gust of wind suddenly blew in from the east, and he knew exactly where to look. He mentally kicked himself for not having thought of it sooner, as he made his way along the now familiar path through the forest. As he drew nearer to his target, her scent grew stronger, intermingling with the sweet fragrance of burning wood, the pungent odor of death and decay, and the delicious aroma of meat cooking. Puzzled, he moved toward the clearing which marked the entrance to the gypsy encampment. As he approached, coming within view of the camp, the first thing he saw was the dangerously large bonfire in the center. He was amazed by the destruction he saw surrounding the blaze. It looked like a war zone, or the site of some natural disaster. Angel had seen his share of both during his century and a half of unlife. All that remained of the civilization that once was, were the scattered remnants of a few broken down tents, and some carelessly strewn personal items belonging to the former inhabitants. He cautiously stepped into the camp, scanning the wreckage until he finally found her.

**Fear and Longing**

Annie was sitting just upwind of the bonfire, leaning against the framework of what was likely once someone's living quarters, perched on what appeared to be a bit of busted furniture. Upon closer inspection, Angel realized it was actually a small cradle turned upside down. He glanced back towards the blaze, finally recognizing it for what it was. It was a funeral pyre, and somewhere in the middle was the burning corpse of an infant. Angel's soul cried out for the life that would never be, and he turned his attention back to Annie. Her hair lay in a tangled mess about her shoulders. Her dress was in tatters, barely covering what needed to be covered. Her exposed skin was smeared with dirt, and what was probably blood. Angel was unable to ascertain whether it was hers, or if it even was blood, due to the variety of competing smells already permeating the camp. Annie stared numbly at the flames, eyes red-rimmed from crying, dried tears making tracks through her dirt-streaked face. Angel was grateful that she had yet to notice him, as he was in full vamp face and did not at that moment possess the strength to suppress it. He prepared to announce himself, and hoped that when Annie saw his true visage, she would see it as symptom of his internal struggle, and not as a preamble to an attack. Angel describes the encounter.

_**I was at a loss. Annie could be real touchy. I learned that right off the bat. If I said the wrong thing, there was no telling what she might do. Especially then. She'd spent the entire day building that fire and dragging God knows how many bodies into it. Men, women, children… [chokes up] the baby that slept in that cradle. She'd grown up with these people. They were the only family she'd ever known, and now she was the only one left to deal with their remains. People she loved, who'd taken care of her all her life, were now piled up in the middle of a bonfire like they were garbage. I figured her patience would be at an all-time low, and I wasn't doing so good myself. I didn't wanna think about what would happen if I said or did the wrong thing. If she blamed me for whatever went down at the camp, and decided to lash out… I don't know. I don't even know if I had the strength to fight back. But I know I didn't have the strength to hold back. You understand what I'm saying? It would've ended badly. Probably for both of us. So I tried to put off a confrontation, of any kind, for as long as possible.**_

_**I wanted her to make the first move, so I would know where I stood. But she never did. Didn't even acknowledge my presence. I know she had to have seen me, or heard me or something. I wasn't exactly being sneaky. I mean I was being quiet, not making any sudden moves, but I wasn't hiding. I was right out in the open. Not really caring much where I put my feet. I was focused more on her.**_

Angel ultimately decided the best thing to say to Annie was nothing it all. Keeping his eyes on her face, and his face in the shadows, he approached cautiously from her right. He slowly and methodically placed one foot in front of the other, until he stood directly next to her. He still didn't overtly announce himself, nor did Annie go out of her way to make him feel welcome. Neither of them spoke as Angel calmly lowered himself to the ground beside her, bringing his knees up to his chest, and loosely wrapping his arms around his legs. The two sat in companionable silence watching the flames as if they didn't contain the remains of Annie's loved ones, as if what amounted to an entire culture wasn't literally going up in smoke. After a while, Annie leaned over to rest her head on Angel's shoulder, and he allowed himself another small smile of success.

As the night wore on and the flames grew shorter, Angel's bloodlust continued to grow stronger. Annie's proximity only aggravated his need; she hadn't been quite this close to him since she'd led him from the alley. He could feel is resolve weakening with every passing minute. If his problem wasn't addressed soon, he would lose what little control he had left, and one or both of them would end up dead. He knew this, and still couldn't bring himself to speak up. The timing never seemed right, and he wasn't really sure how to even broach the subject. For a human, it was easy enough to say, "Hey! How's about dinner?" For a vampire, at least for one with a soul, it was something else entirely. It wasn't his fault that he needed to drink blood to live, but he was still ashamed and embarrassed to admit it.

This was a problem Angel continued to struggle with years after Kestryl and I entered his life. Though Kestryl was always willing to provide for Angel anytime he needed it, he would never ask. She had to learn to recognize the signs for herself. (It is my belief that she offered the wrong kind of help for him, and that it often was unnecessary, but that is a story for later chapter.) Buffy also frequently tended to Angel's nutritional needs, by way of bringing fresh blood from the butcher shop, particularly after his hellish summer vacation, but he would always wait till after she was gone, before he would even open the containers. As Angel and I discussed his relationship with Annie, specifically those first few days when his bloodlust was at its worst, he began to exhibit the same symptoms he described to me from a hundred years earlier. Still, he was reluctant to drink the pig's blood Buffy had brought for him, while I was there. I had seen him at his absolute worse, more than anyone in Sunnydale, yet he was embarrassed to have me see him drink animal blood from a plastic cup. It was ridiculous.

It was his idea that I leave him in that state, and we continue the conversation another time. He claimed it was for my own protection. I refused. During his first week home, when he was still wild, Kes and I had taken turns feeding him straight from the tap, so to speak. At the time, it had seemed like the best thing for him. He wasn't coherent enough get his sustenance any other way, and he had to feed, or he would never heal. Unfortunately, this method had the effect of awakening the addict within. What he experienced during this conversation was simple withdrawal, and isolation was not the solution. If I left him then, there was nothing to stop him from coming after me, or someone else, not that my sister would let him be alone for very long. Kestryl was an enabler. I knew she would be right by his side the instant I left, and she would feed his addiction, literally and figuratively. Angel did not, at that time, have the strength to resist, and nothing would be resolved. I pointed all this out to Angel, and threatened to hold him down and make him drink the blood if he didn't do it on his own. He finally agreed, and we both felt a little better.

In 1998, Angel's problem was only solved because he was able to admit he had one, and I was observant enough to identify it, when he was too shy to explain it. In 1898, Angel was afraid to admit that there was a problem. He was still testing the waters with Annie, and didn't know how discuss his situation without ruining the friendship he was trying so hard to build with her. Though he had tried to make her aware of his struggle before she'd left their room, she was too caught up in her own problems to fully understand, or make any effort to help. There was a good chance that by the time Angel found her at what was left of the gypsy camp, Annie didn't even remember what he had tried to communicate to her. He had to find a way to remind her that wouldn't drive yet another wedge between them that he would have to fight to pry away.

Ideally, Angel wanted Annie to notice on her own, and save himself the embarrassment of asking for help. The problem was, he couldn't figure out how to make that happen. He was afraid of how she would react to the news, and this was probably not the best time to risk making her angry. He had already learned that the slightest provocation could set her off. Ultimately, he reached the conclusion that there was more at stake than just his own pride, safety, and potential friendship with Annie. If he kept silent about the matter, eventually hunger would do the talking for him, and the consequences would be unbearable. He also reminded himself, that Annie had her own agenda that didn't include causing him any life-threatening harm. Regardless of her feelings toward him, she would do what she had to complete her mission to keep him alive.

Still hoping for a non-verbal way to get Annie's attention, Angel tentatively put his arm around her shoulders. She had made it clear on more than one occasion that she did not, under any circumstance, want him to touch her. However she reacted to his gesture, the result would be that she would finally see what he was going through, even if she didn't completely understand. At the very least, a dialogue would be opened, or so he hoped. He didn't expect that she would accept his careful embrace as an offer of comfort, or that she would actually nuzzle closer to him. According to Angel, this is exactly what she did. It was just his luck that he would finally get what he wanted exactly when he wanted it the least. Her extreme closeness nearly drove him over the edge, and he shed tears of frustration. He involuntarily let out an exasperated sigh that was part growl, and she finally turned to see his face. Shame getting the better of him, he turned away from her so she wouldn't see. Never one to be deterred, Annie reached up and gently, yet firmly, turned his face towards hers, at last catching a glimpse of the thing that had terrorized generations of her family.

Annie quickly ran through a whole range of emotions in response to his true face. Angel's keen predatory senses picked up on all of them, even as he avoided making eye contact. Although he mostly smelled fear, every emotion has its own unique scent, and Angel definitely sensed anger, and perhaps disgust as well. All of these he expected. He didn't expect the concern that soon followed as she commanded him to meet her gaze. Nor did he expect the outpouring of sympathy from her as he obeyed. In fact everything she did from the moment he put his arm around her was unexpected. Anticipating violence, Angel quickly apologized for his appearance, and explained that he couldn't help it. Instead of an attack, what he got was a very concerned inquiry regarding his last feeding. Angel was reluctant to answer directly, for fear of re-igniting her anger, but he made it clear that his last meal had come from Christiana.

Annie pressed her lips together, reminiscent of when she had lashed out at him at the inn, and Angel braced himself for a similar reaction. But what she did instead only served to further illustrate her unpredictable nature. She turned away from him, eyes appearing to scan the ruins of her former home. Without a word, she stood, removing her cloak, and strode away from him, disappearing on the other side of the blaze. After a moment, she came back into view, seeming to thrust her arm into the flames. When she withdrew it, and began walking towards him again, he saw that she held an old hunting knife with roughly a six inch blade. She held it before her as if she meant to use it on Angel, but everything else about her demeanor suggested quite the opposite. She met his yellowed eyes directly with her bright green ones, advancing cautiously as one might approach a feral animal, which in a sense, was exactly what he was. She slowly and methodically placed one foot in front of the other until she was standing directly in front of him.

Reflexively, Angel began to rise to his feet to meet her, but lowered himself back to the ground when she took an instinctive step back brandishing the knife defensively. She met his gaze determinedly, the slight trembling of her hand the only outward sign of the fear Angel knew she was feeling. She knelt before him, just out of reach, then quickly and expertly sliced her wrist with the knife. He licked his lips in anticipation, an involuntary whimper of need escaping his throat as he watched the rich red liquid began to drizzle out of the wound splashing dark droplets onto the earth in front him. Angel dug his claws into the dirt, to keep himself from attacking before she gave her expressed consent. She inched closer to him, presenting him her bleeding wrist like the precious gift that it was. Still holding the knife in her other hand, she held it out as well, indicating she would not hesitate to plunge it into him if he put her life in danger.

Fighting the overwhelming impulse to ravage her on the spot like a lion devouring an antelope, Angel instead tenderly cupped her proffered limb in one hand, and reached out his other arm to guide her onto his lap. To his surprise, she responded, permitting him to envelope her in his cool embrace. Supporting her on one knee, he tentatively brought her wrist to his lips and carefully began lapping the blood oozing from her open wound. Resisting the temptation to sink his fangs into Annie's flesh, he allowed nature do the work for him, coaxing the blood into his mouth as he lightly pinched the cut with his thumb and forefinger, urging her wrist to bleed more freely. He suckled her wrist gently at first, almost as if wooing a lover, then with more ferocity, as his hunger intensified.

If you've never done it (and I assume you haven't), there are some things I feel I must explain with regards to feeding a vampire, particularly when doing so willingly. First and foremost, I highly recommend against engaging in such an activity. It is an extremely dangerous practice. No vampire, no matter how well you think you know him or her, can truly be trusted in this area. Whether or not the vampire in question has a soul, and regardless of how many times he or she has saved your life in the past, a high probability exists that one or both of you will lose control. There are a number of reasons for this, all equally important. First, most vampires are not in the habit of letting their victims go. If the person is not drained to the point of death, it is usually only because the vampire intends to sire another of its kind. If the vampire is reformed, as in Angel's case, then drinking fresh human blood can, and often does, affect the vampire the same as a relapse would affect any other addict. He will binge until there is nothing left to binge on, or until someone gets hurt. Secondly, the act itself can be a very heady experience for both parties, not unlike taking drugs, and can in fact lead to addiction. When you share your blood with a vampire, you're giving up a piece of yourself, literally and metaphorically. You see into each other's souls, or whatever passes for a soul in most vampires- their essence, if you will. It is different every time, not just from partner to partner, but from one occasion to another. The only constant is the ease with which one tends to get lost in the moment. It is by its very nature quite intimate, analogous to a sexual encounter. Even if a signal to break the connection is worked out ahead of time, there is a good chance that either the donor will forget to utilize that signal, or the vampire will fail to register it. There is likely some physiological reason for this- a venom in the saliva, perhaps- but as I'm not a scientist, and most vampires aren't introspective enough to find out, I couldn't possibly begin to venture a guess.

Whatever the reason, this was precisely what happened with Annie and Angel. Every taste only served to increase his desire. He tightened his hold on her in response, snaking his arm up her backside to grip her about the shoulder. As he clenched her wrist, drawing more deeply from the wound, he became dimly aware of a sticky wetness oozing over his fingernails. He could feel Annie relaxing against him, seeming to completely give herself over to him, as she leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. He barely noticed her fingertips scrabbling at his lower back, and had the vague sensation of the cool steel of her blade brushing against him through his shirt, as she started to lose her grasp on the weapon. It was through sheer force of will that he had thus far managed to avoid ripping into her flesh like Henry VIII on a turkey leg, and his self-control slipped further away as he perceived her surrender. Lurking just below the surface of his mind, Angelus whispered to him, like the devil on his shoulder, commanding him to capitalize, even as Annie's distant voice came to him across the void, pleading with him to stop. Still unaccustomed to his newly restored human soul, and savage with hunger, Angel was powerless to ignore the demon within, and he obeyed, burying his fangs deep within the flesh of Annie's wrist, ripping through tendons to drain the sweet nectar contained therein.

Almost the instant he pierced her skin, he was shocked back to reality by a searing pain emanating from his dead kidneys. Somehow, Annie had maintained her hold on the knife, and when Angel failed to yield to her cries, she plunged the knife deep into his back, just as she had promised she would. He released her immediately, and before he had time to fully register what had happened, Annie surprised him yet again. After he had nearly killed her in repayment of her kindness, _she_ was apologizing to _him_, saying she "didn't want to do that." Angel tells me it was one shock too many. He lost it then, breaking down completely. Everything he'd done during the course of his unlife (and in fact, his human life) came crashing down on him at once. He collapsed into her arms, his tears pouring down his face like rain, and buried his face in her shoulder, pleading for a forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve. Despite her own injuries at his hand, she accepted him into her embrace and held him that way until well into the night when the flames from her bonfire were reduced a few burning embers.


	19. Moving Forward

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Moving Forward**

**On The Road Again**

That night was the beginning of a profound change in Annie and Angel's relationship. She never truly forgave him for the crimes of Angelus, but she helped him take the first steps toward forgiving himself. Angel recalls.

_**I don't know how long we sat there like that. Seemed like forever, but I still wasn't ready when she pushed me away. I just wanted to hold her. Or be held. Or maybe I just wanted to feel warm, for once. I don't know. And maybe that makes me weak. **_[shrug] _**So be it. I was weak. Every time I thought I was gonna be all right, that maybe it wasn't so bad, it would hit me. And then I wasn't all right. I needed help. I latched on to Annie because she was there. I thought she was my salvation. And I didn't wanna let go of that.**_

Not only did Annie make Angel let go, she shook him like one of James Bond's martinis, and according to Angel, told him to "Get over it, and move on," though she seemed unable to do so herself. At least not in the metaphorical sense. She could, however, move on in the literal sense. Away from the town she had called home for the past twenty or so years, away from the ghosts and the painful memories that now haunted her at every turn. Angel, too, was likely in need of some distance from this place, but it would be a long time coming before she concerned herself with _his_ emotional well-being. After dressing her wound, Annie hauled Angel's worthless carcass to his feet (her words, not mine) and the unlikely pair made their way back to Annie's room. With just a few hours left till sunrise, they both agreed it would be best if they got some much needed rest, and started out fresh the following evening, when they would be able to cover more ground.

As they approached the lodge, Annie expressed her intention to peruse the dining area downstairs, though it was likely to be closed, in the hopes of replacing some of the nutrients Angel had recently taken from her. Upon their arrival, however, they realized that was not to be. They had barely made it to within a stone's throw of the Inn, when Angel reached out to stay her forward momentum, forgetting for a moment, the potential danger involved in touching her without permission. Annie turned to him, concerned, and more than a little annoyed. She was about to ask him what the problem was, but the look on his face told her all she needed to know. Something had gone down there, and it was far from good.

But Annie had been raised to be a warrior, a hunter, and wasn't about to back down. She urged Angel forward with her and cautiously approached the darkened inn. As they reached the entrance, Annie got wind of what had got Angel's hackles up. Every hair on her body stood straight up, and screamed "Danger!" Refusing to be deterred, she crossed the threshold and slowly took in the scene before her. Tables and chairs had been overturned, some broken; dishes with remnants of meals lay scattered and shattered about the room.

After spending the day with Angel, reliving his gloryless days (not to mention mine), I was in serious need of some mental detoxing in the form of loud music and consuming mass quantities of intoxicating beverages. I met Buffy and friends at The Bronze, and Annie showed up. She let me know I was no longer on her shit list for my mental indecencies earlier, acknowledging that her mind worked the same way mine did, and that she may have overreacted a bit. I conceded that I had been inappropriate given the subject matter, and convinced her to continue her side of the story. I have interspersed her anecdotes with Angel's where I found it necessary. As always, his words are in **bold**.

_[Re: Dining Room Disaster]__Oh. And the bodies. Can't forget the bodies. Not so many when compared to the mess back at the camp, but still too many. Half a dozen or so. Maybe more, maybe less. Just tossed around carelessly like piles of dirty laundry. Across tables, over chairs, tattered heaps in the middle of the floor. And permeating the atmosphere was this unmistakable aura of…Darla. I mean of course it theoretically could've been any vampire or group of vampires, or not even a vampire. And it's not as if she'd left a note or anything. Nothing so prosaic as that. But the second I set foot in the place, I got this crystal clear image in my head of Angelus. And since he had been with me, that left only one possibility. It had to be Darla. Which meant she either knew I was there, or that he was there. It was just too much of a coincidence to think anything else._

Unsure what to do for a moment, and hating herself for it, Annie turned to Angel. He looked around, sniffing the air, like the predator he once was, or perhaps like the prey he was now, answering the question she hadn't asked. Darla had left the building. Reassured, Annie took the lead once more, and with a renewed sense of urgency, grabbed Angel's hand, half-dragging him up the stairs to their room, taking the steps two at a time, almost seeming to fly to the landing. It was as she'd feared. The door was standing open, and the room bore clear evidence of someone other than Annie or Angel having been there. And again, saturating the air, was the undeniable scent of evil, death, and expensive perfume. Darla's expensive perfume, to be precise.

Annie's belongings, scarce as they were, had obviously been rummaged through. The Book, thankfully, had not been taken, but lie open on the desk as if someone had hastily scanned its contents, in search of…what, Annie didn't know. She stood frozen for a minute, trying to remember if she had written anything potentially useful to an enemy, within those pages. Running on pure adrenaline, however, and incapable of conscious thought, she could not recall anything she had written. It would not be until much later, when the information was most vital, that a page would be discovered missing. Her fight-or-flight instinct now in high gear, Annie hastily began gathering her scattered belongings, stuffing them into the worn satchel that had been her mother's, any way they would fit. In her haste, she failed to take into account her traveling companion's severe photosensitivity, or the scant amount of time before said affliction would become an issue. Despite his current state of self-loathing, however, Angel's sense of self-preservation won out, and he quickly pointed out Annie's oversight.

The reminder had the effect of stopping Annie in her tracks, as if she had hit a brick wall. It was all she could do to keep from lashing out violently at the dead thing standing before her that had played such a big part in her decision-making all her life, and the thing that was now still controlling her just when she had thought her nightmare was at end. Dropping her bag, she clenched her fists tightly at her sides as she fought to regain control of her anger, letting out a string of obscenities, as she turned and fled the room, uttering not a word to Angel in explanation. Already becoming accustomed to Annie's drastic mood-swings and abrupt actions, Angel recovered quickly from his initial shock and confusion at Annie's sudden departure, and picked up where she left off with packing. When he was finished, he sat down on the edge of the bed facing the door. His senses remained on full alert in case someone other than Annie, his ex, perhaps, should return.

Minutes later, Angel's keen vampire hearing picked up the faint sound of footsteps outside the inn, then a single step on the hardwood floor of the devastated dining area downstairs. He held the breath that he didn't have, anticipating the worst, then let it go with relief, as Annie's voice floated up to him, raised just enough for his supersensitive ears to pick up, commanding him to join her. Angel remembers:

_**By the time I got downstairs with her bag, she was already gone. Well, not gone, exactly. I could still sense her nearby, but she was nowhere to be found. Till I got outside. Then I almost died laughing. Somehow she had gotten her hands on a covered wagon, complete with horses. Two of them. She was sitting up in the driver's seat like she was getting ready to take a leisurely ride. Like we were goin' on a picnic or something. It was like someone had just let loose a cloud of giggle gas. I couldn't help it.**_[begins to chuckle as if it were happening all over again]_** I just started cracking up. I'd never thought I'd laugh again up until then, and once I got started I couldn't stop. And she just looks me, completely deadpan, and goes, "What? Let's get a move on, Angel." And that just got me going even more. I tried to get a hold of myself as I threw my bag- er, her bag in the back, and asked her where she had gotten it. Without cracking a smile she says, "Stole it." Like she was commenting on the weather. I don't know why that struck me as funny, but it did. I must've laughed all the way to the Ukrainian border.**_

That's probably an exaggeration. Annie told me she pushed the horses at a full run until just after sunrise when they reached a town called Câmpulung la Tisa, near the border. Angel had fallen asleep long before that, at least as far as Annie could tell. It's not as if he snored, or gave any other audible indication of being at rest. And she didn't dare open the back to check, what with sun being up. But he had long stopped giggling, and made no other sounds that might indicate wakefulness.

With the sun's golden rays reducing shadows to a minimum, Annie finally felt comfortable enough to relax for a time. She didn't dare sleep, not yet, but she let the horses take their time recuperating from their hard run, knowing that when they got going again, she would once again be pushing them near or past their breaking point, trying to put as much distance between them and Borşa as possible before she and Angel were forced to continue on foot. Annie was also in need of some serious recovery time, herself. She had been awake since the previous morning, and the sleep she'd had, had been anything but restful. She'd worked herself ragged at the camp, and hadn't really eaten anything since her wedding. And oh yeah. Then there was Angel. The blood-soaked scrap of cloth encircling her arm made sure she didn't forget that bit of recent history.

She needed to rest, and she needed to eat. But first, she had to tend to that arm. She sat on the back of the carriage, and gingerly unwrapped the makeshift dressing, wincing as it pulled at the hairs on her wrist, and the scabs that were already starting to form over the self-inflicted cut, and the twin puncture wounds Angel had inadvertently caused. She washed the wound with some water from her canteen, and satisfied that it was healing nicely, and wasn't likely to reopen as long she avoided strenuous activities, like say, fighting vampires, she contented herself to leave it uncovered save for the sleeves of the only other outfit she'd brought along that wasn't sleepwear. She spent the remainder of her cash, which wasn't very much, to be honest, and bought as much food as she could from the local eatery, forcing herself to finish all of it, even as her stomach protested, and the hot food grew cold, knowing she needed the nourishment, and that it might be some time before she had another opportunity.

When the sun reached its peak, Annie determined it was time be on the road again, if she hoped to make any real progress before nightfall. She chanced a peek at Angel, to make sure he hadn't been roasted when she wasn't looking, and assured of his continued survival, climbed to the front of the wagon and urged the horses into motion. This time, she allowed them to work up speed, gradually, then ran them at a full trot until they finally gave up on her about an hour before sundown. Says Annie:

_Not that it would have mattered if they hadn't. I'd run us right into the friggin' mountains! Almost literally. The trail, if you could call it that, was far too narrow, and rocky and treacherous and too everything to take the wagon through on, or even the horses themselves. There was nothing but steep rock on one side and overgrown dead brush on the other side. I couldn't have taken the horses through that if my life depended on it. And it sorta did._

**New Heights**

Unable to travel any further with the carriage, and still too sunny for them both to continue on foot, Annie resigned herself to taking the opportunity to seek out a campsite and some sort of sustenance before it got too dark to see. She woke Angel to explain the situation to him, so he wouldn't worry, then set off alone on her search. Angel didn't bother telling her that he would always worry about her, no matter what.

_**Without her, I didn't think I'd have the strength to go on. Or the will. I didn't think I deserved to live. Some days, I still don't. I needed her by my side, encouraging me, giving me that kick in the butt to keep me going. And she was good at that, let me tell you… but just having her there gave me something to fight for. Her friendship, her forgiveness… But even knowing I could probably never have that, that I didn't even deserve it, her life was something to fight for. If somehow, I could save that one, it might be a step in the right direction. And I knew, as much she hated to admit it, to me or anyone else, even herself, she needed me as much as I needed her. So of course I was gonna worry. Back then, she was my reason. If anything happened to her… I don't think- I know I wouldn't have been able to go on.**_

Angel sat in the back of the wagon, dying inside, knowing he couldn't go with her, and listened to Annie's retreating footsteps. He strained all his demonic senses until he could no longer detect any trace of her from within his canvas prison. He anxiously waited for either the sun to set or for Annie to return, whichever would come first, as every fiber of his being screamed at him to follow, knowing it was impossible. In those moments he was more terrified for her, than he had ever been for himself in all his 170 years of existence. He knew the things that went bump in the night, the monsters lurking in the shadows waiting for nightfall, because he had been one of them. Every second that ticked by that Annie didn't return, was like a stake through his heart, as he feared the worst. He tried to reassure himself that Annie had survived this long without him- in spite of him, in fact- that she had been brought up to be able to defend herself against the very things he feared threatened her now, but it was no use. Reason had never really been his strong suit (still wasn't, some might argue) and he would continue to assume the worst until he set eyes on her again.

The second the sun dipped below the horizon, Angel hit the ground with both feet, and ran off in search of Annie. Again. If there is one thing Angel has always been good at, it's hunting our family like dogs, and this particular occasion was no different. Though, in fairness, he _had_ almost given up when he finally found her. When he at last caught wind of her, he thought for sure his weakened state was causing his senses to play tricks on him. As if the location itself (about 200 feet above him) wasn't enough to make the 145 year-old vampire question his sanity, he also detected the distinct aroma of something he never expected to find in conjunction with her scent. Fear. Even as a renewed anxiety washed over him, he reminded himself that if she was afraid, whatever the reason, it meant she was still alive, and he was not too late to save her.

Though he was sure he must be mistaken, he followed the direction his nose was telling him to go, turning his gaze up the side of the mountain. He spied her clearly on a ledge high above him, in the same instant her voice drifted down to him, almost too faint for even him to hear. He scanned the rock face looking for the safest way up. Though a fall wouldn't kill him, it could still take him out of commission plenty long enough for the sun finish the job, and he was none too keen about taking the dangerous trek up the mountainside. But Annie needed him. He owed it to her, to Christiana, to all the lives he had taken over the years, to try. He cursed quietly, then raised his voice to assure Annie he was on his way, uncertain if she could even hear him, then began the arduous journey to save his savior.

Working carefully, painfully aware that the slightest misstep could potentially doom them both, Angel slowly made his way to where Annie sat waiting. As he drew closer, he could hear Annie's ragged breathing. It was a sound with which he was all too familiar, a sound he himself had caused more times that he cared to remember. It was the sound of pain, and…crying? There was definite sniffling sounds involved, but as he neared the end of his climb, he realized there was another sound accompanying the sniffling; the chattering of teeth. Being already dead, himself, Angel seldom, if ever noticed the cold, but now it became quite obvious; Annie hadn't been crying, she had been shivering. Though it was not yet October, and therefore technically Autumn, Winter was already taking its hold in the region. To say Annie was dressed inappropriately for the weather would be an understatement. Angel quickened his pace, while still taking care not to lose his footing.

When he reached her, the first thing that struck him, even in the dim light of the cloud-covered moon, was her coloring. Her skin was almost paler than his, and had taken on a translucent bluish tint. She was shivering so convulsively, that had Angel been just a man, he would not have been able to detect any movement at all. It was readily apparent that she would not last much longer if he couldn't get her off of that mountain and into some sort of shelter. She was putting on a brave face for him, though, despite her obvious pain and discomfort, so he did his best to play along. He had the distinct impression that, for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, she wasn't going to allow him to take her down as easily as he would've liked. Of course, he could easily have muscled her off the mountain against her will. She didn't look like she was capable of putting up much of a fight, and the demon part of him was more than a little aroused at the notion of forcing his will upon her, even if his intentions were noble. But his intentions were to gain her friendship, her forgiveness, and perhaps most importantly, her trust. Forcing Annie to do anything, even if it was for her own good, would do nothing to help his case.

_**I don't why I thought she wouldn't go. I guess it was the fact that she was still sitting there. I mean, I could tell she was hurt, somehow, but even so, it just wasn't like her to give up like that. Yeah, I barely knew her, but I'd known her family. They didn't quit. They fought every step of the way. Even when it seemed like the opposite, they still fought. They fought the instinct to fight. So that others could live to fight another day…Does that make sense? But Annie…She wasn't helping anyone by just sitting there, not even trying. I knew there was another reason that had nothing to do with any injury. And if I didn't get to the bottom of it, neither one of us was getting off that mountain. Because I wasn't about to leave her. I would have rather died.**_

_**So I kept my distance at first. Or as much as the ledge would allow. Wasn't a whole lot of space up there. I mean, I've fought on narrower, but still, not a lot to work with. I wanted to give her as much space as I could. So I just stood there for a minute. Barely even on the ledge. I asked her what she was doing up there. She said she was enjoying the view. Just like you people to crack a joke a time like that. So I played along with her, made some crack about her weak human vision, and she cracked wise about my bald head.**_

_**I'd noticed she was holding her left leg at an odd angle, and with the tension broken somewhat, I asked if I could take a look. Of course had to make some comment about me being a doctor. Or not being a doctor. I wanted to tell her I knew a little something about broken bones, but thought it was too soon for something like that. Our relationship at that point was tenuous at best, so it probably wouldn't have gone over very well.**_

I knew exactly what he meant. Even now, as I write this, I have a hard time hearing those kind of comments from Angel. You try to get past it, remember that it was a different time, that the man before you is not the same man he was then, but some things just stay with you. The best you can hope for sometimes, is just to avoid touchy subjects altogether. If you're lucky, you have someone like Angel, who understands and respects that.

Annie granted Angel permission to examine her leg, and as he drew closer, her pallor reminded him of the direness of her situation. He had no coat to offer her, so he quickly removed his shirt, having no real need of it himself, and draped it over her like a blanket. (Or bib, if you prefer. He's a big guy, but he's not _that_ big.) She accepted it gratefully, thrusting her arms into the sleeves, wearing it backwards. He gently lowered himself to her level and leaned down to examine her injured leg. For the first time, he realized how swollen and bruised it was. The flesh encased in her boot was pressing so tightly against the leather it looked like it would burst out of it. After silently asking and receiving permission to remove the offending article, Angel deftly unlaced the boot, and gently slid it off her foot. She hissed in pain as he did so, and he felt her muscles twitch, ever so slightly, as if resisting the impulse to kick him right off the ledge. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw there were mere inches between himself and the edge of the cliff. Much more of a twitch than that would send him sailing over, and they would likely both perish by sunrise.

He ceased his ministrations for a moment as he relayed his concerns, explaining the necessity to get closer to her and take further steps to prevent an accident. While it was clear she didn't much care for the idea, she nodded her understanding, and Angel proceeded to make the necessary adjustments. He eased his legs out from under himself, and slowly inched towards her, lessening the gap between them. He gently lifted her injured left leg, as he straightened his right one to support it. As his fingertips brushed her skin, he again felt that slight twitch of her leg muscles and heard her suck in a breath. Worried that he had hurt her, he glanced up and recognized something other than pain etched into her features. He took himself out of the moment for minute, and realized what she must have been thinking. He was thinking it too. Though this situation was completely different, and had absolutely nothing to do with the other, he couldn't help but be reminded of Christiana. After all, it had only been a couple of days since then. Looking at Annie, her face pinched, eyes screwed shut so tight they might have been sewn, Angel knew it was more than mere pain causing her distress.

_**I couldn't go on like that. I mean, it was awkward enough. You know? Every time I looked at Annie, I saw Christiana. I couldn't help it. It had only been a couple days since…and they were twins, so…To have Annie reacting that way was too much. I needed her to trust me. I needed to see that she trusted me. And I needed her to see that I wasn't him, to believe that I wasn't, and to make me believe it.**_

_**I called out to her. Softly, at first, but she didn't answer. So I raised my voice. "Annie!" I said. "Annie, look at me!" I could tell she didn't want to, but she finally did, and I said, "Annie, I need you to trust me. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to help." She nodded, and said she knew that, but I didn't really believe her. I wasn't sure she really believed it. I wished she could see my face. I could see her perfectly, but I know in that light, or the lack thereof, she couldn't see mine. So I reached out and grabbed her hand and held it to my face, hoping she could at least feel what I needed her to see. "Please?" I said. "Let me help you."**_

Annie closed her eyes again, this time not so tightly, but more like a long blink. She followed his lead and lightly ran her finger tips across his face, tracing his brow, which would have been wrinkled and deformed had he been Angelus, and running her hand over his newly bald head, which was already beginning to show signs of stubble. She met his eyes again (or as near as she could, given the poor light) as she cupped his jaw in her hand, running her thumb lightly over his lips, as if searching for the last tell-tale sign that the wrong guy was in front of her. At last she nodded, finally speaking the words he so desperately needed to her. "I trust you."

Satisfied that she meant what she said, Angel continued making the necessary accident-preventing adjustments. Annie let her hand fall from Angel's face to his bare shoulder. The sudden contact made him suck in an involuntary, though unnecessary, breath of his own, but he said nothing. Careful not to further aggravate her injured leg, Angel held his right leg still, and slid his body closer to hers. He kept a close watch on her face as he did so, wary of the slightest sign of any form of discomfort. Her mouth twitched, and her nose crinkled almost too quick for him to see, but she said nothing, and maintained eye contact, which he took as a good sign. He gently held her right leg in his hand, resting it on his hip, as he slid forward until he was close enough to wrap his left leg around her backside. He breathed a sigh of relief when she followed suit, as he angled himself to have better access to her injured leg. To an outside observer, they would've appeared to be just another young couple cuddling in the mountains in the middle of the night.

He had to remind himself of the real reason for their awkward positioning, as Annie's hand drifted down his back to rest on his waistband, fingertips absently brushing along his skin on the way down. He felt his back muscles twitch involuntarily at the motion, and wondered if she noticed. He decided this time, he wouldn't chance looking at her face to find out, and instead continued to focus on the task at hand. He carefully held her leg against his with one hand, as he lightly perused the injured limb with the other. To someone who didn't know better, he might have seemed to be simply copping a feel, but he was actually looking for jutting bone, which would have been a clear sign of a break. As if there weren't enough awkwardness in the situation, Angel realized that to truly help her as he promised, he would have to work under the fabric of her dress to accurately assess the damage to Annie's leg. To make things worse, it just wasn't practical for him to work by touch alone. He needed to study her bruises more closely than just the quick glimpse he caught before.

_**Not that I hadn't already seen her naked, before. But that was different. She wasn't in her right mind, then. Hell, I doubt she even remembered I was there. And I was tied to a chair. So…This time, she was the one immobilized. It was just too… **_[shakes head, failing to find the words]_**… You know?**_

I did know. And I was suddenly grateful that I'd never had to be in that position. Of having to put that much trust in Angel. Of having to put myself completely in his hands, like that, for my own well-being. Of course, I'd been in that position with Spike, but it was different. Spike had never done what Angel had. Excuse me. What _Angelus_ had done. Well, okay, there was that one time. But I so could've stopped it. I chose not to. But I digress. The point is, I knew exactly what Angel meant, and what Annie must have been going through, mentally, at that moment. Had it been me on the side of that mountain, I don't think I could have stood for it. Pardon the expression. Had it been me, I would've frozen to death, and he would've been a pile of dust at the bottom of the mountain come sunrise.

Angel explained to Annie what he wanted to do, what he _needed_ to do, in that awkward of way of his, stumbling over his words, as he's still prone to do, even now. The look on her face made it clear to him that she was even less thrilled with the notion that he was, but she consented, voicing that she understood his intentions. Grateful for her understanding and willingness to trust him, Angel fought through the awkwardness and went about the examination. He tentatively slid her dress up her leg, only as far as he felt absolutely necessary (about three inches above the knee), bunching the fabric as needed to avoid exposing things he shouldn't. Then he set to tenderly poking and prodding her bruised and swollen flesh, cautious of causing further injury, as he continued his search for displaced bones. Now and then he would feel the tensing of a muscle, or hear a hiss of her breath, accompanied by fingernails lightly digging into his back. Each time, he would glance up at her, worried, only to be rewarded with a nod of encouragement, and sometimes even the smallest of smiles.

He gradually moved his fingers up her leg, and all around, leaving not an inch untouched. Though he was merely checking for sore spots, or other more serious damage, it was almost as if he were giving her a massage.

_Most of the time, that was exactly what if felt like. It was hard to believe that those hands, that had caused so much damage to so many lives over the years, more than anyone could possibly imagine, could also be so tender. DON'T tell him I told you this, but I couldn't help but wonder what else he could do with those hands. __[at my disgusted look]__ Do you supposed that's what attracted your Aunt Trudi? Or Kestryl? __[I think I threw up in my mouth a little] [Annie laughs]__ So I'd close my eyes, and just relax for a minute. Try to enjoy myself, y'know? And then he'd hit a sore spot blow it all to hell._

After what seemed like an eternity for both of them, but was in all likelihood only a few minutes, Angel finally finished his torturous (in more ways than one) inspection of Annie's leg, and turned to face her, careful not to joggle her leg. He met her eyes directly, drawing his face close to hers, to be sure she could see him as clearly as he saw her, even in the poor light. He gripped her about the shoulders, firmly but gently, and delivered the news.

_**"The good news," I told her, "is nothing appears to be broken. At least not seriously. Cracked, maybe, but not broken." She nodded, but I could tell she waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she knew there was going to be bad news. There always is, right? So I gave it to her.**_

_He said, "I think it's dislocated. Here." And squeezed the area right below my knee. Not hard, mind you. But hard enough. I screamed bloody murder. And I think the only reason I didn't kick him off the ledge was the fact that he sorta had me pinned. Well, that, and…OW! Y'know, it already hurt. What, was I gonna make it hurt more? __[shakes head]__ Not!_

_**I didn't mean to hurt her, but I guess I didn't know my own strength. Or maybe she was already in more pain than she was letting on, I just sent her over the edge…Metaphorically, I mean. And she let out this bellow, and smacked my hand and tried to push me off of her. I told her I was sorry, and just held her, and let her get it out of her system. And then she just stopped. Out of nowhere. Then she claps her hands over mouth, and gets this look like she was more worried about screaming than anything else. I couldn't help but chuckle. We were in the middle of nowhere. Literally. She could've screamed till doomsday, and no one would've been able to hear her, and I told her so. "Scream all you want," I told her. "There's no one around to hear." Well, that was the wrong thing to say. As you could imagine. And she just lost it. Started fighting me for real. Bucking and punching and trying to pull her leg back- the good leg, I mean- and kick me off with it. But I had her pinned in such a way, she really couldn't do much. So I just held her and tried to calm her down. Make sure she didn't hurt herself worse than she already was, or knock me off the cliff. Or both of us.**_

_**I tried to explain to her that I didn't mean that the way it sounded, but she was so upset, I wasn't sure she heard me. So I just waited it out. Did what I could to protect her from herself. Or me from her. **_[shrugs]_** Whichever. Eventually she calmed down and I tried again to explain myself. I told her I knew how much pain she must be in. And that if screaming helped, or made her feel better, then by all means, she should. I told her not to worry about attracting attention- I knew that's what she was worried about, and told her so- because there was no one around to attract attention from. Not Darla. Or other vampires. Not anybody. We were completely alone.**_

_**Finally she seemed to understand, and started to relax. Not quite to where she was before. I could feel the tension just radiating off of her. It was almost palpable. I was worried I was gonna have to start all over again. With getting her to trust me. Which was gonna make what I had to do next even harder than it already was.**_

As he spoke, Angel started moving toward me, and I found myself inching back in my seat. There was no malice in his movements, and I knew it was Angel, and not Angelus stalking towards me. But I can't deny it still freaked me out a little. I had no idea what he had in mind. Earlier in our conversation, he had been so careful to keep his distance, and not make any sudden moves, or anything that might possibly make me uncomfortable. Now here he was walking right up to me. It was such an about-face, I guess it just caught me off guard. He stopped just within striking distance, then knelt down in front of me. He caught my eye, then grabbed my hand, squeezing it lightly before holding it gently in both of his. For a moment, I got this ridiculous notion that he was going to propose. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He was being earnest, and I was telling myself jokes. But I realized his intentions, then. It was a story best told visually. He was trying to bring me along with him, into the past, onto that ledge. He wanted me to relive it with him. Without some creepy Vulcan Mind Meld thing happening. For the next minute or so, I was to play the part of Annie, and he would play the part of, well, Angel.

_**I said, "I know how to fix this." **_[He puts one hand on my knee, the one representing Annie's injured one, and taps it lightly with his forefingers]_** "And I know this probably isn't what you wanna hear right now, but I do know a thing or two about broken and dislocated bones." **_[I flinch, remembering my own interactions with Angelus, and imagine Annie doing the same]_** She nodded, and indicated that she understood. She knew I wasn't bragging, or trying to make light of what I'd done. That I was just trying to reassure her the only way I knew how.**_

He released my hand and knee, raising himself up until his eyes are level with mine, then gently gripped me about the shoulders, lightly rubbing my upper arms as if soothing away goose bumps. Which I did have, by the way, thanks to this little reenactment. He looked deep into my eyes before he spoke again, and as he did, I knew it wasn't me he saw in his mind's eye. It was Annie. He was completely immersed in the memory, remaining in the present just enough to remember he was telling a story, and not about to relocate my leg.

_**"I don't want to hurt you," I told her. She nodded, and said she knew, and that she trusted me. And then I completely shattered that trust with what I said next. "But I'm going to hurt you."**_

He held my eyes for a moment longer, still lost in the memory, then lowered his gaze as he slowly came back to 1998. The reenactment over, he stood and moved to sit next to me on the couch. I let him. Regardless of our past, or how being around him sometimes affected me, I knew he meant me no harm. And he was remembering a time when all he wanted in the world was the trust of another. A time that when he finally had it, was forced to destroy it. Right then, as he had with Annie a hundred years prior, he needed my trust. For that moment, I was willing to give it him, even if I couldn't give it to him any other time.

_**The look on her face, Rowynne. Five words, and it was like we were back to square one. Five words. That's all it took. And that tension I talked about earlier? Turned to fear like that! **_[snaps his fingers] _**And I could feel her muscles tensing up like she was gonna fight me again. Like she was gonna push me right off that cliff, consequences be damned. **_[stops, looks at me, then smiles, slightly]_** But she didn't. It took her a minute. I could tell she having some kind of internal war with herself. But after a minute or so…the right side won out, I guess. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me, waiting.**_

I waited, too. For a while, it seemed like he wasn't going to finish. He just looked away, staring off into outer space. Lost in the memory, I guess. Reliving it, maybe. Just when I was about to lose hope of him ever continuing without some sort of prompt, he went on.

_**Hurting her was the last thing I ever wanted to do. If there had been another way…but there wasn't. **_[looks at me]_** I had no choice. And I knew how badly this was gonna hurt. It was gonna hurt a lot. You have no ide-Oh. I guess you do.**_

He _guessed_? You have no idea how badly I wanted to punch him in the face right then. But I let it slide. This time. I dug my nails into his couch and clenched my teeth while I waited for him to continue.

_**But the point is, I knew, too. From personal experience, not from… I've dislocated a bone or two in my day. My own, I mean. Just- Can you cut me some slack? You know I'm not very good at this... talking thing. Anyway, popping it back in isn't quite as bad as pulling it out, but still… **_[I snickered, couldn't help it]_** God damn it, Rowynne! No wonder Annie took off on ya! You're lucky she didn't clobber you one! **_[rolls his eyes]_** Anyway, it hurts like a bitch! And I told her that. But the bright side is it only hurts for a minute or two, which is way better than alternative of just leaving it alone. At least this way she would still be able to use her leg. It might hurt still, but it would be functional. She said she understood, and she was fine with it, but I don't think she really got it.**_

_I got it. I'd never been hurt that bad myself, before, but I'd seen it happen a time or two to the men in my camp. Men a lot stronger than me, that turned into sniveling cry-babies just having an arm or a leg pulled out of socket. And some of the bigger guys, it took three or four of us to hold him down while Sorin popped it back into place. So yeah. I understood the kind of pain he was talking about._

_**Problem was, it's really hard, almost impossible to sit still through that. And Annie was- is- a fighter by nature. She'd been trained her whole life to do just that. It was in her blood. All you women **_[he meant us Gallaghers, or maybe O'Connors]_**, you're all fighters. And if we'd been on the ground that wouldn't have been a problem. She could've fought to her heart's content, and neither of us would've been the worse for it. But we were some, 200 feet up, on the side of a mountain. That kind of pain, reflexes kick in, I go flyin', probably take her with me…You see where I'm goin' with this? And it's not like we had sedatives handy. Or restraints of some kind. There was just me.**_

Basically, Angel had to use his own body as a restraint, in conjunction with the rock wall behind Annie. As if that evening, or their relationship for that matter, hadn't already contained enough awkwardness. Of course, he already had her pretty well immobilized by that point, so it wasn't such a huge step to sandwich her completely between himself and the mountain. Not that I could have tolerated it, as I said before. So I get why Angel would have been hesitant to even suggest such a thing, even if it was an absolutely necessity. And it had been only a few days since he had held Christiana against her will, even fewer that he'd had to live with it on his conscience. Add to that the fact that he was now looking at her _identical_ twin, and was about to completely pin her to a wall with his own weight, her dress hiked up nearly to her waist, while he did something to her that was going to make her scream like a banshee in a voice very similar to the one that was likely echoing in his head every minute of every day. Well, it was no wonder he made with the over-explaining. I think he was trying to convince _himself_ it was necessary, more than he was trying to convince Annie.

_He was definitely more freaked out about the idea than I was. Not that I was overjoyed at the prospect either. But I got it. I don't think he really believed me when I said so, but I did. But you know Angel. He can be so…needy, sometimes. So I told him that yes, I understood, and yes I was okay with it, and yes, I trusted him and I knew he wasn't That Guy, yada yada yada, and would he please get on with it already for the love of __God__, so we could get the hell off that accursed mountain, for crying out loud? And yes, before you ask, I really did say, "Accursed". It's how I roll._

**Force Her Own Good**

If vampires had heartbeats, Angel's would have been pounding as he began to re-adjust himself, yet again. And despite whatever assurances Annie may have made to the contrary, he could tell she was far from comfortable with this new arrangement. The heart doesn't lie, and neither does the heart_beat. _Hers was telling him to back off, and it pained him greatly to have to refuse. Of course, the demon inside him was dancing a glee little jig at this turn of events, which only added to Angel's own unease. Because, while you can suppress your nature, and you can suppress your impulses, there were some things you just couldn't suppress, no matter how hard you tried. And one of those things was about to become blatantly obvious. Angel prayed (if that was the right word for it) that Annie wouldn't notice, or if she did, that she wouldn't hold it against him.

Careful not to jostle Annie's injured leg, Angel raised himself off the ground to position Annie's good leg underneath him, her knee bent so that when he lowered himself again, she would be completely immobilized under his weight. She inhaled sharply from the pressure, and he sat up, worried he might be crushing her beneath his mass. She assured him she was fine, and illustrated the fact by pulling her ankle towards her until her foot rested under her other thigh, further restricting her movement before indicating he should sit down again. Encouraged, he eased himself forward as he did, so that her right foot was now braced against his right thigh, thus rendering it completely stationary under her own leg. He placed his left hand on her shoulder for support, and was relieved when she followed suit wrapping her right arm around his middle drawing him to her as he continued to close the gap between them. As his hips met hers, he swiveled around so that his rear rested squarely on her right thigh, and she melded naturally into the crook of his arm. He was now in a position to wrap his left leg more firmly around her backside so that he held her right foot securely between both of his. Then he maneuvered his arm out from behind Annie's back, and told her to hold on tight. She wrapped both arms around him, as best as she could without restricting his access to her leg, and held on for dear life. Angel placed one hand just above her knee, and wrapped the other hand around the calf just below it.

Before proceeding, he checked with her one more time, asking if she was ready. She responded with a definitive, "No," and before she could protest further, he slammed her leg back into its socket with the kind of sudden brutality of which only he was capable. She let out a howl so inhuman sounding, Angel almost couldn't believe it came from her. Despite her assurances to the contrary, Annie began thrashing about wildly, reflexes overruling rational thought, just as Angel had predicted. Acting on pure animal instinct, Annie bucked her hips violently, attempting to throw him off of her. Seemingly unhindered by his heft upon her, she managed a couple of surprisingly powerful thrusts before Angel rapidly disentangled himself from her and threw his full weight on top of her, knocking her flat on her back. She narrowly avoided cracking her skull when she hit, as Angel quickly threw his hand behind her head to cushion her fall.

_**I hated doing that to her. It felt like…**_ [looks at me with a pained expression]_** Do I really have to say? **_[looks away, eyes focused on the past]_** I mean the way I was holding her… I wondered if maybe we'd both be better off if I just let her go. But I was just so afraid of her hurting herself. Or throwing me off the side. Or both. So I held her down until she stopped fighting… I kept one hand behind her head, so she wouldn't crack it open, and I put the other arm across her chest so she wouldn't…**_[shakes his head]_** I don't know. I guess I was acting on instinct, too. I just wanted to keep her still. For her own safety. So I just put my whole weight on top of her, held her legs down with mine. I was afraid to even let her have her feet. I thought somehow, even with me holding her legs down, that she might be able to get a foot under her and we'd both go over. So I held her feet down, too. I held every part of her…**_[looks down, ashamed]_**… with every part of me. **_[looks at me again]_** I mean, I've only got two hands. **_[makes jazz hands at me]_** I had to use whatever I had. And I can't imagine what must have been going through her mind. **_[shrugs]_** Maybe nothing. Maybe she was just reacting…**_[sighs, looks heavenward]_** God, I hope so. Because in my mind…it really felt like…**_[unable to say the word]_**And I hated myself for it. But I really didn't see any other way.**_

Angel told me it felt like forever before she finally stopped struggling, but was sure it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes. At the time, he wondered if there had been a point when she was no longer fighting her pain, but fighting him. To this day, he still didn't know for sure, and never had the courage to ask. He said he let her have her hands free, because he didn't think she could do any serious damage with them, and maybe it would help lessen the feeling (for both of them) that he was trying to harm her in some way. She flailed and punched, swatted and clawed his back and sometimes it was hard for him to tell if she was trying to push him away, or pull him close. Perhaps it was her non-verbal way of telling him she was fine and it was okay to let her go. Until she found her words again, he simply had no way of knowing.

Since Angel had always been too afraid to ask for himself, and I was curious myself, I had to get Annie's side of the ledge incident. So when she turned up at The Bronze after I had already imbibed a fair amount of hard liquor, I asked her, heedless of The Scooby Gang sitting with me, if she shared Angel's impressions of the event. Initially, I asked her in Gaelic, out of concern for Buffy, et al (One of the gifts of my family is the ability absorb any language after hearing it once. Gaelic was one of my first, and my favorite), but since we were both a bit inebriated, we soon lapsed back into English.

_I think I must've blacked out. I mean Angel wasn't kidding when he said it was gonna hurt. It __hurt. A lot.__ I don't remember wailing like a lunatic, or impersonating a Brahma Bull. And I don't remember him throwing me down._

This peaks the interest of the three teenagers at the table and they begin listening to our conversation like children at story time.

_I just remember the pain. It was like…Well, there really is nothing like it. It is what it is. It was like one minute I was telling him that no, I wasn't ready, and then there was the blinding pain, and the next thing I knew, I came to-Is that even the right phrase if I didn't technically pass out?- and he was on top of me._

Out of the corner of my eye, I happen to glimpse Buffy to my left. Xander and Willow are across from her, and the three friends exchange a look at Annie's last comment. Even in the dim light, I can see Buffy's face go completely ashen. Not in the mood the coddle the Slayer, or her friends, I let Annie continue uninterrupted.

_And yeah, there may have been a moment, right at first, when I really was fighting him. I was still pretty out of it. Didn't quite have a full grasp of what was going on. Like a kind of amnesia, I guess. So yeah. At first it did kinda seem like_…[notices Buffy, seemingly for the first time, listening attentively]_… Éigniú. And I guess it coulda easily turned into that. I mean, it's not like there was a lot standing in the way, what with my dress being all hiked up and men's trousers in those days weren't exactly what you'd call sturdy. At least not in that part of the world. And did I mention how strong he is when he really puts some muscle behind it? And let's just say he was having…Issues. Yeah. I noticed. In case he was wondering. Strangely, that's sorta what brought me back. I mean at first I was like "Oh-my-god-what-the-hell-get-off!" _[off my look] _DON'T say it! And I really didn't know what was happening, or why. I was just trying to get free. And then, with the struggling, there was this moment of "Oh! Hello!" and then "Okay-now-seriously-back-the-fuck-off-before-I-claw-your-eyes-out." And then, "Ow, my leg" and "Holy-shit-balls-motherfucker-son-of-a-BITCH-that-fucking-hurts!" And then all of a sudden it was like, "Oh! Oh, I get it now!" And that's when I started to calm down a bit and just focus on willing the pain away. And I'm making it sound a lot more prolonged than it was. I mean from the time I came out of my blackout till the time I got my senses back it was really only like Bam! Bam! Bam! From one thought to the next like that._

Angel held Annie pinned tightly to the ledge until her struggles began to cease. There was a moment when it was difficult to determine whether she was pushing him away or pulling him close. He had avoided looking at her face, because he couldn't bear to see the pain etched into her features. As he felt her muscles begin to relax, he lifted his weight off of her, just slightly in case she renewed her efforts, and chanced a look at her face. She wasn't looking at him, initially, her eyes focused on some distant point Angel couldn't begin to grasp,. After a moment, her vision began to clear, and her eyes finally met his, silently communicating that all was well. He sat up, helping her to do the same, and she embraced him tightly as the last of her pain slowly receded to a manageable level. The gesture was so unexpected, that had it been possible, it would've given him a heart attack, and it took him a moment to recover from the shock, before returning the embrace.

_We just held each other for a minute, and I wasn't sure if he was comforting me, or I was comforting him. It was pretty traumatic for both of us, I think, what with the pain and the screaming and the pinning and- You know what? I take that back. He was definitely taking it harder than I was. I mean, I was in pain, sure. And blacking out then waking up (for lack of a better term) in that position was pretty creepsome, but I figured out pretty quick was really happening. Angel, though… He just kept apologizing over and over, saying "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry". And I was the one telling __him __it was okay. That __I__ was okay, and that it was all over, and everything's fine, yada-yada._

**Down To Earth**

Of course, everything wasn't fine. The incident on the mountain left a blot on their relationship that would never fully go away, regardless of anything Annie may have said to the contrary, overshadowing even the real crimes Angel had committed prior to regaining his soul. Not one to dwell, however, Annie did what she could to bury the experience far into the dim recesses of her mind, and focus on the task at hand: getting off of that god-forsaken mountain. If she ever so much as looked at another mountain again, even if she lived another hundred years, it would be too soon.

Realizing that Angel needed more help in this department than she did, she let Angel take the lead for the remainder of the evening, deciding to continue playing the part of the helpless invalid. He needed to be the responsible one for a while, to have someone to take care of, other than himself. He needed to focus on doing something good, to wipe out the stain left on his heart and on his soul by what he had just done, even if it had been done with the best of intentions.

The first order of business was getting them both back to solid ground. He advised Annie to stay off her injured leg as much as she could, instructing her reclaim her spot sitting against the side of the mountain, while he looked for the safest way to carry them both down. The clouds were starting to clear, giving him more light to see by, but leaving a biting chill in their wake. The wind began to pick up, causing even his own dead flesh to prickle at the near freezing temperatures. His need for urgency was renewed as he recalled his prior concern for Annie's safety and the desperation that had lead him to his recent actions. As he scanned the rock for a trail of some kind, he chanced a look at Annie to see how she was handling the cold, and was relieved to see she had stopped shivering. That relief quickly switched to fear, however, as he wondered if that meant her body was shutting down in self-defense. Dismay soon followed as he caught her readjusting her dress, and noticed it was slightly torn. He wondered if that had happened in the struggle, or as a result of the fall that had caused her injury. He couldn't for the life of him remember if it had already been torn when he arrived.

Forcing that thought to the back burner, he laid down on his stomach, and peered over the side of the cliff to look for another ledge close-by, or perhaps a stable foothold. He knew he would have to carry Annie down on his shoulders, and it would be easier and safer if he could get below the ledge before having her climb onto his back. Alas, he found no such ledge or foothold to support him for any length of time, and cursed softly as he realized the only way down was going to involve yet another moment of awkwardness. He started to ask the gods, why him, what he had done to deserve such rotten luck, but then realized the absurdity of such a query. It was because he was horrible bastard, of course. He deserved every bit of bad luck thrown his way. But what had Annie done to deserve it, besides being born?

Those were ponderings for another time. Angel plotted out his course, then got into position to make their decent as he explained to Annie what was to happen. Lying on his belly, he slid his legs over the side until they were far enough out to brace his knees against the underside of the ledge. Ideally, he wanted to brace his feet against the mountain itself, but that was not to be. This was the best he could do. He beckoned Annie over to him, instructing her to climb on his back, and wrap her arms and legs around him as tight as she possibly could. He would not be able to hold on to her and safely climb down the mountain at the same time. Annie did as she was told, tightly enveloping his torso like a human knapsack. For the first time since the restoration of his soul, Angel was grateful for his demon side. In addition to giving him extra strength needed to make the treacherous journey down the mountain, it eliminated the need to breathe, which would have been severely hampered by Annie's vice-like grip around his throat. Step by grueling step, Angel and Annie slowly made their arduous trek down the mountain, and after what seemed like a lifetime, they finally found themselves on solid ground once more. At Annie's insistence, Angel set her down to stand on her own two feet as he led the way back to the carriage where they would set up camp until Annie's leg had fully recovered.


	20. A New Chapter

**Chapter Nineteen**

**A New Chapter**

**Broken Wood and Dead Meat**

On the way back to camp, Angel again asked Annie what she had been doing on that mountain in the first place. She explained that from the ground, she had thought she'd seen a cave in which they could find shelter from both the bitter temperatures, and other potential disasters that may have come their way. When she reached the cave she had thought she'd seen, she realized it was only a shadow, and tried to climb back down. Frustrated, she'd lost her footing. It was only through dumb luck that she had happened to land on the ledge instead of crashing to her death at the bottom of the mountain.

Angel couldn't help but chuckle at the tale, recalling his earlier musings regarding his and Annie's luck. Apparently, their luck wasn't quite so bad as he'd originally thought. A stern look from Annie quickly silenced him until she, too, recognized the ridiculousness of the situation and burst into her own fit of laughter. The sound was music to his ears, flooding him with relief and the realization that perhaps they could move on from that horrible incident above. He joined in her mirth, giggling along with her as she joked about her own foolishness in looking for a cave when they had a perfectly serviceable wagon to take shelter in. Their shared laughter served to dispel some of Angel's insecurities, and he even felt comfortable enough to point out how pointless her quest for food had also been, with two perfectly good dead horses just lying there in front of the carriage.

_**She gives me this look like she's going to projectile vomit. Like she couldn't think of anything more disgusting than eating a horse. I said, "What? They're already dead. It's not like they're doing anybody any good just lying there rotting." I mean, I wasn't exactly happy about it either. I was used to humans. Feeding on animals was considered taboo, beneath us. Something you only did when there was no other option, and then only when you were hungry enough to bite your own arm off. When you couldn't wait any longer. And that's how I'd lived for the last century and a half. It was ingrained in my psyche. But I was willing. I couldn't understand why she wasn't.**_

I could certainly understand where Annie was coming from. I wouldn't want to eat a horse either (though I understand they're quite delicious, if you can get past the notion that you're eating a horse). But Angel does make a valid point. A person's got to eat (vampire too, for that matter). There's really no sense in letting good meat (or blood) go to waste just because it gives you the heebie-jeebies. I would have been more concerned about eating something that had died from natural causes. I was always told that wasn't a good idea. But I guess it's okay, if you know it didn't die from an illness of some sort, or some bacteria that was gonna make you get sick and die, which is another concern I would have had. At that point, the horses had been dead for some time, certainly longer than two hours the FDA now recommends as the maximum time to leave meat sitting out. Angel explained to me, as he did to Annie back then, that the cold temperature would've kept the meat fresh, or fresh enough for the short amount of time they had been screwing around on the mountain. Though the animals had given up some time before sunset, they had still been alive when Annie had left them. Angel said he could hear them breathing, their hearts beating while he waited inside the carriage. In fact, as far as he knew at the time, they were still alive while he and Annie discussed the possibility of eating them, though he highly doubted it.

In what seemed like no time at all Annie and Angel arrived at the clearing where the carriage and the two dead horses sat waiting. Annie had to take Angel's word for it, though, as the mountains and the trees obscured whatever light the moon may have provided. He'd had to lead her by the hand, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to steer her over and around any potential obstacles that lay in their path.

As he carefully guided her to the wagon, Annie's mind couldn't help but flash back to a similar moment, about a month prior. It was the day Jakob had proposed to her. Gypsies tended to make their plans quickly in case fate should conspire to intervene. It was a beautiful August afternoon, no particular occasion. Unbeknownst to Annie at the time, Jakob had spent the entire day preparing a special picnic, just for her, inside his tent. He had collected flowers, cooked up her favorite stew, and had even gone to town to sell some his woodcarvings (a hobby of his) to buy some breads and cakes, and even a bottle of wine. When he brought her back to his tent, he had blindfolded her so as not to spoil the surprise. He had guided her back to his domicile much the same way Angel was guiding her now. It was the last distinct memory she had of Jakob that didn't involve some kind of bloodshed.

This time, as Angel gently lifted her up and eased her inside, no veil was lifted from her eyes. It was even darker here, than it was outside. She could not even make out Angel's silhouette in the canvas opening. As he followed her in, she had the thought, unbidden, that he could do anything he wanted to her, right then, and she'd never see it coming. Of course, Annie knew that Angel would never, could never do anything to hurt her. Not on purpose. Not if there was another choice. Which is why, when she heard the rustling of fabric next to her, though it gave her some trepidation (she couldn't help it), she said nothing, and gave him the benefit of the doubt. Regardless of their camaraderie on the trail, she knew Angel would never even dream of trying anything even remotely similar to the insane notion that popped into cold-addled brain. She felt a tugging underneath her (which only reinforced her insane imaginings), and Angel asked her to "raise up a little". Confused and anxious, but insanely curious, she did as she was told, only to be rewarded with a heavy blanket being pulled over her, courtesy of the wagon's previous owners. He instructed her to wrap up in it and stay warm, even as he did the work for her, pulling the material tightly around her, almost as if he were rolling a burrito. He then asked for her knife, which she reluctantly gave him, loathe to relinquish her weapon. She was fully aware of his intentions, and none too pleased about it. After commanding her to say in the carriage until he called for her, Angel exited through the opening, leaving Annie alone with her thoughts.

While Annie waited for Angel to tend to matters she'd rather not think about, she found it difficult to think about anything else. The wagon rocked and shuttered and there were loud crashing and banging sounds coming from outside as if some monstrous beast was barreling through the forest to rip them to shreds. Every so often he would let out a shout of pain or the occasional curse, and it was all Annie could do to keep from running out to see what the hell he was doing. Then she remembered that she wouldn't have been able to see, anyway, and would probably just end up breaking her neck tripping on debris. So she stayed where she was, wrapped up like a mummy, and waited for Angel to give her the green light to come out.

_A few minutes went by, and then it got really quiet. Almost deathly quiet. I mean I'm sure if I'd already been a vampire at that point, I'd have heard everything, but I wasn't so I didn't. I didn't hear anything at all. So I crawled to the back of the wagon- or the front- the side with the horses! And I pressed my ear against the side to see if I could hear __something. __Anything. Y'know, I was kinda worried, not hearing __anything at all.__ And then I did hear something. It was like a rubbing-smacking sound. Like a __[brushes her fingers along her hand while "golf-clapping"]__. And I could hear him muttering, "Come on, come on!" and "You can do this" in between the occasional swear word._

I exchanged looks with the other three humans at the table. Xander snorted, and at the same time Buffy and I both said "Ew". After a moment, Willow said, "Oh!" and then "Ohh," as her skin took on a greenish hue, metaphorically speaking. I turned back to Annie and begged her for clarification. She lets out a throaty chuckle tinged with evil, which is her trademark, and continues.

_Well, I guess it's possible. I mean it's not like I could see. So for all I know, he __was__...basting his ham? But no. After a minute or two of that he started cheering and congratulating himself like he'd just won the Olympic gold medal…Or the WWF Heavyweight Championship. Then there was more crashing sounds, and then it got really bright. He was making a fire._

_I called out to him, then, but he hollered back at me, in that nervous way of his, to stay put. Then I heard this tell-tale tearing and sucking sound, and I knew __exactly__ what he was doing. And then I couldn't stand it anymore. I threw myself out of the carriage and barely made it two feet away from the opening before I just missed vomiting all over my shoes._

Angel heard her retching and stopped what he was doing to call back to inquire as to her well-being. Annie assured him she was fine, encouraging him to go about his business and be quick about it. He did, and when she had finished heaving, she went to go sit on the back of the trailer while she waited for him to finish. She struggled to control her nausea, finding it to be an uphill battle while her ears were continually assaulted by the gooey wet sounds of ripping flesh, and the sickening splat of some unseemly mess hitting the ground. Just when she thought she could no longer stand it, and would have to take a stake to her own ears if she had to endure another second, it was over. There were a few minutes of the sound of something being dragged along the ground and through the trees, then finally Angel called out that it was safe for Annie to join him.

She came around the front of the cart and discovered that Angel had broken up the driver's area to use for kindling, then cut out a few large portions of the horse meat and put them on a spit in the middle of the large campfire. He had thoughtfully disposed of the evidence so that all that remained was a few blood stains on the ground that he had clearly tried to cover by throwing dirt over. Despite her disgust at the notion of either one of them eating a horse, Annie was impressed. For a guy that had been on a liquid diet for the last 145 years, he seemed to be pretty adept at the preparation and cooking of dead meat. By the time he had cut it and placed it on the fire, it no longer resembled anything a person might hook up to a cart and ride. Her earlier queasiness notwithstanding, her stomach rumbled in anticipation, and she had to admit it smelled delicious, though it had only been on the fire for a couple of minutes.

The two sat in companionable silence while they waited for the meat to cook. For the first time, there seemed to be no awkwardness between them, though inwardly Angel continued to brood about the mountain and other things, as is his way. Annie never mentioned any of it, though, so he didn't either. Angel had carved up plenty of the horse for both of them, so when it was ready for consumption, he ate some too, so Annie wouldn't have to dine alone, or feel uncomfortable eating in front of him. Annie told him that while she appreciated the gesture, she wasn't about to return the favor when it was his turn. He responded (while she was in mid-bite) by saying she didn't have to worry because he "already took care of it".

She gave him a look like she was either going to punch him in the nose or throw up on him, but did neither. Holding her horsemeat out of the way, she instead scooped up a handful of bloodstained dirt (dried mud, actually) and threw it on him. As he tried to brush it off, the moisture in the soil only caused him to smear it on his still bare torso. He half-heartedly tossed a pinch of back at her, thanking her sarcastically, and made a comment about having to endure another of Annie's patented scrub-downs. The banter went on like that until late in the evening. For once they seemed to enjoy each other's company, without any of the previous awkwardness of the past two nights (quite a feat, really, when you stop to consider their recent melee on the mountain). When exhaustion finally caught up with Annie, and came to claim her as its victim, Angel suggested she go back to the wagon and rest while he tended the fire for the rest of the night. Having been awake for nearly 24 hours, Annie gratefully accepted his offer. It was the first time she had trusted him enough to sleep near him when he wasn't tied up. I asked Annie about her sudden change of heart, and she explained it thus:

_Well, I'd got myself into quite a pickle up there. I was pretty well helpless. He could've done anything he wanted to me, and I wouldn't have been able to shit about it. Except __maybe__ push him off the side. __Maybe__. And had he been anything like the guy I'd heard about and read about, the guy I still half thought he was up until then, he would have. Without hesitation. No question. But he didn't. And he really went out of his way, did the best he could to make sure I didn't think he would. Not that it helped. But he tried. And he earned my trust. At least that much of it, anyway._

**Feeling Sheepish**

Just before sunrise, Angel joined Annie in the back of the carriage. She didn't stir when he laid down next to her, but woke up a few hours later, and took over his task of keeping the fire going. It had nearly gone out by the time she got to it, but had just enough flame left to get it started again. Once she had stoked it back up to a nice roar, she went exploring the woods in search of sustenance, taking care not to further injure her leg. Alas, she turned up nothing so lavish as the previous night's horse, but did manage to scare up a couple of muskrats. She returned to camp feeling slightly disappointed, but pleased with herself, nonetheless. She set the rodents to cooking, thinking that while it wasn't the ideal lunch, it couldn't be any worse than horse, which wasn't so bad, actually. Then she remembered Angel.

_I know it's hard to believe, but I actually forgot about him while I was out there. It was like I was back at the camp again, y'know? By the time I remembered, it was already too late to save the muskrats, and anyway, it's not like I had a cage to keep 'em in. What was I gonna do, tie 'em to a wagon wheel? How silly would that be?_

So she ate her muskrat lunch, then went back out to see what she could find that might keep long enough to share with Angel. Just when she was about to give up and tell Angel, "Sorry 'bout your luck," she came upon a lamb that seemed to have wandered away from its herd and gotten lost. She brought it back, and tied it to the back of the carriage, intending to save it for Angel, as they would likely have to spend a few days there, while her leg was fully healed. With the little daylight she still had left, she caught some fish from the nearby river with some leftover bits of the muskrat.

Angel woke up with the moon to the smell of fish cooking, and some other scent he couldn't quite place. As he swung his legs out of the wagon, he kicked something soft, and peeking his head out to see what it was, he was treated to a pair of soft brown eyes looking up at him innocently. Before he had a chance to question the presence of a sheep before him, the sheep let out a long "Baaaahhh" in greeting.

_**Excerpt from Discussion:**_

_**Angel, Rowynne E. Crowley**_

Angel: It scared the tar out of me! I-

**Row: (snorts) You were afraid of a **_**sheep**_**?**

Angel: I wasn't afraid! It startled me, okay? I wasn't expecting it. I'd just woken up. It was dark. Naturally. And here was this sheep in face going, "BAAAHHH!" How would you like it?

I couldn't contain my laughter, hearing that. Of all the things I expected to hear Angel say, "BAAAHHH!" was not one of them, and I completely lost it. Angel, for his part, tried to keep going.

Angel: And it was so cute! (more laughter from me) And she expected me to…eat it?

For some reason, I found this whole portion of the tale extremely hilarious. Maybe I just needed a laugh. Or it could have had something to do with hearing Angel bleat like a sheep. Even thinking about it now gives me a case of the giggles. Back then, they reached such a fevered pitch, that Angel forced to pause and wait for me to get a hold of myself. A stern look from Angel finally set me on the road to recovery.

**Row: (clears throat) Sorry. Please go on.**

Angel: You're finished?

**Row: (a purple face, and watery eyes telling a different story) Yuh-huh…**

Angel: You're sure?

**Row: (snorts, clears throat) Totally. (deep breath) Please continue. (bites lip)So, uh, you didn't eat the sheep? (another snort)**

Angel: (finally silences me with his patented glare) I did. Later. After she went to bed. I-It was just too soon, you know?

**Row: (nods) Yeah…You really need to get over that.**

Angel: What do you mean? I feed in front of you girls all the time.

**Row: Ok. First of all, drinking pig's blood from a coffee cup is not "feeding". Second of all, that's like eating a hamburger in front of… another hamburger. Doesn't count. Especially when you consider all the other gross stuff we've seen you do. Not really much of a stretch. (pointed look)**

Angel: _(looks down, guilt-ridden, says nothing)_

**Row: **_(now __I__ feel guilty)_ **Sorry. I'm trying. I know it wasn't your fault. It's just-**

Angel: _(looks up, interrupts)_ No. That's fair. I'm just glad you'll still talk to me after all that.

**Row: What? Like I'm gonna make it easy on you? I gotta come around once in a while just to make sure you don't forget.**

There was some more banter after that, mixed in with the more serious moments, but I like to have the last word, so I'll just leave it at that and continue with the story.

**Blood, Sweat and Tears**

Angel and Annie stayed where they were for as long as they could while Annie's leg finished healing, but Annie was not equipped to deal with the increasingly cooler temperatures. When she had left her home with the Kalderash, she had packed her bag in a hurry and brought more tools and weapons than clothing. Having ruined one dress that second night with Angel, she had been reduced to just one, plus her sleepwear for the remainder of their journey. Needless to say, it was not suitable for the harsh winter temperatures. In addition, much of the wildlife Annie had relied on for food was already beginning to migrate to warmer climes, or go into hibernation. After one week, Annie was forced to eat the lamb herself, leaving nothing for Angel; not that it would have lasted much longer, anyway. Of course, if necessary, Angel could go days without feeding at all, had done so plenty of times in the past, and was willing to do so again, if it meant Annie was taken care of. However, it quickly became clear that such a sacrifice would not make a difference for long, so the two followed the example set by the animals, and ventured southward, despite Annie's leg having yet to fully heal.

With no transportation, Annie's bum leg, and Angel's restricted mobility, travel was a slow, arduous process. They rested about every two hours, leaving themselves two hours until sunrise for Angel to find suitable shelter. This meant they had only about eight hours of travel time, and thus could only cover about 32km, or 20miles, each day. Sometimes they were fortunate enough to find a barn in which to take cover, or a nature-made shelter of some sort, but other times the only option available was for Angel to dig himself a hole in which to spend the day, while Annie slept on top for added protection.

_**It was harder than it sounds, you know. **_[mocking himself]_** "Oh, I'll just dig myself a hole" **_[shakes head derisively]_** But it's not like we carried a shovel around with us. We had to use our hands. And it wasn't like digging in a sand box. Like you would say, "That shit was hard, yo!"**_

That brought on another giggling fit from me, Angel joining in, this time. It seemed he was just full of oral surprises that day. Er…I mean verbal. You know, with the talking and the sounds. Not the gross kind. Ugh.

_**Seriously! I broke a nail! **_[more shared snorts and giggles] _**Several, in fact. We both did! It's a wonder we had any left by the time we got where we were going.**_

_It was awful! Forget about breaking nails! That just meant less dirt got under them. Of course, that also meant the dirt wound up sticking to my bloody fingers. Not to mention my knuckles. And my knees. And okay, __everywhere__! And it was cold! And I had to either sleep on the bare ground, or not have a blanket, getting god knows what in my hair. I was hungry __all__ the time, and when I __did__ get a decent meal- it was rare, but it happened, up it came. Pretty sure I got some on me. And no change of clothes, nowhere to bathe, at least not regular…Don't know how Angel could stand it. I must have been __rank__! _

With every passing day, Annie seemed just a little worse for the wear. Sleeping outside was clearly taking its toll on her. Aside from being dirty, and scabbed up from helping Angel dig his various holes, she became covered in bug bites. Her lips were chapped and cracked from not having nearly enough water, barely enough to survive, really, and often complained of stomach cramps as a result. While temperatures tended to range in the 40's (Fahrenheit), it was still rather sunny at times, and she developed quite a sunburn. Exposure to the cold gave her skin a bluish tint to complement her sunburn, making her appear purplish. Her shoes wore down to almost nothing, and eventually she was reduced to wearing none, causing horrible blisters on her feet, often on top of existing blisters.

At times, it seemed they would have been better off staying in their broken down wagon in the Ukraine wilderness. Food was as scarce here, as it had begun to be there, perhaps more so. They often had to subsist on whatever they could find. In Annie's case this meant a diet consisting largely of weeds and bark, with very little in the way of meat. For Angel, this meant several days without anything at all, and sometimes being forced to dine on Annie Tartare. Though it was always at Annie's insistence, Angel hated himself each time he had to resort to such heinousness. He thought she looked half dead as it was, and there was still that certain something he had sensed in her before, that he couldn't quite identify, raising alarm bells with every single drop that flowed into his mouth.

As they began to reach more populated areas, occasionally they would find a rooming house of some sort with an understanding, compassionate proprietor who would take pity on them and let Annie work in exchange for accommodations. When that was the case, they were both able to have proper baths, and have a good night's (or day's) sleep in a real bed, and Annie could finally have a real meal, even if she found it difficult to keep down.

_Of course, when that happened, Angel had to hide and sneak in later. If they saw him, they would want to know why the man was making the woman do all the work while he sat on his ass all day. Though, the couple times we did get caught, I learned Angel was quite good at acting like a retard to explain himself. Oh. Sorry. Is that not politically correct anymore? I mean, uh, mentally deficient._

For Angel, the comfort of an inn was sometimes more trouble than it was worth. While he was always grateful anytime Annie was able to have her needs met, he couldn't exactly live on meat and potatoes. Being out in the open meant there was at least the chance of a coyote or other wildlife happening by, but being stuck at a lodging house and having to hide or play dumb severely limited his chances of finding a food source that didn't have a name. This usually meant he had to turn to Annie, yet again. If he couldn't make it out to find something else, and if several days had gone by since the last time he had fed, she would insist on it.

_**For some reason, she was more worried about me, than herself. I tried to explain that I could go quite a while if I had to. I might not look great, but I wasn't going to starve to death. She wouldn't hear of it, though. Even if I did manage to make it out, if for whatever reason I couldn't find anything, she was right there. I even tried lying to her, saying there was a dog or something. But she always knew. I don't how she knew, but she did. [shrug] I guess it was the same way you girls always know… whatever it is you know.**_

**Italian Hospitality**

After about a month on the road, Annie literally couldn't go any further. She stopped just outside Milan, Italy, insisting she could not go on.

_**We were almost there! I could see the lights from the city! We had plenty of time before sunrise. We could've made it. And she just drops. Says, "Angel, I can't walk anymore." And then she just passes out. For a second, I thought she was dead. Her heartbeat was so faint, I had to get close and really listen to make sure.**_

Fearing more for her life, than he had ever feared for anything ever, Angel scooped up Annie and ran for the lights of the city. Still recovering from the recent riots, Milan wasn't quite the cultural Mecca it once was. Shop windows were still boarded up, and some buildings looked as if they were barely standing. Despite the obvious damage the Bava-Beccaris massacre had caused, the city was still quite impressive, doing plenty of business even at that late hour. Angel found a modest hotel near the edge of the city and went in to try to work his charms on the front desk clerk. Unfortunately, he seemed to have left his charms somewhere on the road, and this fish wasn't biting. Even while Annie slumped in Angel's arms looking, for all intents and purposes, like a corpse, the woman at the desk was absolutely unwilling to negotiate, or offer any assistance whatsoever.

_**It was like my lips were moving. Sound was coming out. But nothing was getting through. It was like she had no heart. I mean, here I am. I've got Annie in my arms like this **_[holds arms out like he has a body in them]_**, and she literally looks like I just pulled her out of the grave, and all this c- woman cares about is money! And it wasn't even her money! I swear, I was this close **_[holds up thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart]_** to whippin' out the fangs and just…**_[holds hands out in a strangling motion]_** RRRR! You know?**_

Fortunately the "cwoman" at the desk did not have the final say in the matter. The commotion Angel was causing attracted the attention of the hotel's owner who was in his office behind the reception area. The white-haired gentleman exited his office inquiring as to the nature of the problem. Before his employee could respond, he laid eyes on Annie's deteriorated form and headed straight for Angel. Angel did his best to reign in his anger and frustration, and once again launched into the harrowing tale of his and Annie's journey to Milan. As Angel spoke, the innkeeper's brow furrowed with increasing concern, as his eyes darted between Angel, and Annie's unconscious body. His mind was made up before Angel could finish his story.

The kindly gentleman led Angel to a room that was still badly in need of post-riot renovations, explaining apologetically that it was the only room he could reasonably give them. After all, compassionate though he may have been, the man still had to make a living. The economy was still recovering from its recent recession, and the rooms which were still in proper working order had to be saved for paying customers. The room was dingy and charred from having been burned in the riots. The windows were broken and boarded up (for which Angel was grateful). All the furniture had been destroyed; bits of it lay scattered about the room. All that remained was a severely charred mattress in the middle of the floor, void of bedding.

Angel thanked the man for his hospitality as he lay Annie on the blackened mattress. So focused was he on the declining health of his companion that he barely heard the man explain that the room's plumbing was still functional. He didn't even look up as the proprietor left, promising to return with food, blankets and other supplies. He sat by Annie's side, squeezing her hand as if he thought he could imbue her with his life-force simply by touch and force of will. He lightly brushed the hair from her face, his heart breaking to see her wince in pain (though still unconscious) at his touch against her badly sunburned skin. He knew he was at least partially, if not completely to blame for her condition and couldn't help but think he was destined to hurt her, and her family despite having the best of intentions. It was this last thought that nearly sent Angel seeking to end his own life. Annie's whole family was already in that room. Over the course of his unlife he had successfully wiped the entire Gallagher line off the face of the Earth, and as long as Annie stayed with him, he was sure she would be the last. Angel wept.

True to his word, the hotel's proprietor returned some time later bearing the supplies he had promised. Helping him carry the wide assortment of provisions, were his 10-year old son, and 16-year old daughter. They reminded Angel of the hundreds of families just like theirs that he had savagely destroyed during his tenure as Angelus, and his soul ached to look at them. Between the three of them, they brought enough bedding to build a fort; a lantern; some changes of clothes for each of them along with various bathing necessities, including a jar of skin cream for Annie that he said his wife "swears by"; and last but not least, a pot of stew large enough to feed a family of four; a basket of rolls, a pitcher of water and all the necessary eating implements. The gentleman proudly touted the creature comforts of the modern bathroom he had just had installed, prior to the recession and ensuing riots, pleased that it had survived the destruction to the rest of the room. Angel once again thanked the man for his kindness, and after offering the usual platitudes of "It'll be all right", etc., the man departed with his children, leaving Angel alone with the convalescing Annie.

It was the first time Angel had ever been completely responsible for the care of a human being. Even before he had become a vampire, Angel (or Liam, rather) had only ever had himself to worry about. Though he'd loved his sister, Kathy, dearly, he had never been responsible for her for any length of time; not even for an afternoon. Now, as he sat with an unconscious and probably dying (so he thought) Annie, for a moment he was at a loss for what to do. However, his indecision lasted only an instant as he looked from Annie's dried, cracked skin, and chapped lips, to the water pitcher beside him. He carried the vessel into the bathroom, marveling at the idea that one could get water simply by turning a handle. He quickly filled the pitcher and set it on the tray of food next to the bed. Then he snatched up the pillows, arranging them behind Annie to raise her to a semi-upright position, and covered her partially with one of the blankets. He poured a glass of the water, and cradling Annie with one arm, tipped the glass to her lips, hoping the contact with liquid would awaken her survival instinct, encouraging her to drink.

At first, nothing happened. The water touched her lips, and proceeded to run right down her chin. Angel felt discouraged, but refused to give up. He tipped the glass again, and the same thing happened. This time, though, Annie reflexively began licking the water off her lips. While she still appeared unconscious, she also seemed to be instinctively searching for more water, the way a newborn searches for a teat. Angel tried again, and this time she leaned forward to accept the life-giving elixir. And immediately proceeded to choke on it. Still, in this case, any progress was good, so Angel tipped the glass a fourth time, more carefully this time, and was finally met with success. Annie slowly began sipping the water, and after a moment, reached up to hold the glass herself, though Angel still maintained a firm hold on it.

She drank the rest of the water, then slumped back against the pillows as Angel refilled the glass and handed it back to her. While Angel lit the lantern, she took a few more sips, then rested the glass in her lap while she finally surveyed her surroundings. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the soot-stained walls, the boarded-up windows, the severe lack of furniture, and the various goodies surrounding the mattress on which she sat. She turned to Angel, confused, and started to ask where they were, but a weak croak was all she could manage. Angel recommended she remain silent to spare her throat, then did her the favor of answering the question she'd been unable to ask, updating her on all she had missed while she'd been out.

They spent the remainder of the evening communicating via a series of gestures, facial tics and eyebrow wiggles. Angel asked if she was hungry, offering her some of the stew. Annie responded affirmatively, and asked him the same, insisting he take advantage of what was left of the night to go find something. As usual, Angel insisted he was "fine," but this time defied her order, refusing to leave her side until she was well. They argued about it for a while, then Annie finally relented on the condition that he share some of the stew (of which she knew there was plenty) so she wouldn't have to feel weird about eating in front of him.

She listened with great interest as he regaled her with the wonders of indoor plumbing, which she previously hadn't known existed. They spent some time debating as to whom was going to have the honor of christening the modern bathtub with the hot and cold running water. Annie begged off, saying (or rather, signaling) she was still too tired and sore to make the journey from bed to tub, and didn't want to irritate her various abrasions, by putting soap and water on them just yet. Angel responded by giving her the cream their host had brought over, and helping her apply it to her most affected areas: primarily her face, which she couldn't see; and her back, which she couldn't reach. Angel fetched her the hand mirror from her bag, and they had a laugh at how ridiculous she looked with all the cream on her face.

This lead to some coughing and rasping on Annie's part, as the laughter aggravated her scratchy throat, and some unnecessary panic from Angel's side. The moment passed, and after some good natured banter regarding Angel's own disheveled appearance during which he made of a show of looking in the mirror, Annie hobbled into the bathroom to sponge off and answer Mother Nature. Angel earned himself a dirty look and a near-slap when he asked if she needed any help, to which he had to clarify that he meant help with getting there. She declined, as she pulled out one of the hand-me-downs, and went in to do her business. When she returned, Angel took his turn in the loo, while Annie set to organizing the various items strewn about the floor. When Angel returned about an hour later, Annie was fast asleep in the freshly made bed, one side drawn down awaiting his arrival. Though they'd slept together before, Angel was hesitant since a covered wagon was a bit different from a bed in a hotel room. After a moment, however, he realized his foolishness and crawled in beside her, claiming the place she had clearly meant for him to have. He lost consciousness watching her sleep and listening to her breathe.


	21. What Happens Next

**Chapter Twenty**

**What Happens Next**

**What's That You Say?**

Morning came too soon for Annie's liking, and announced itself with a loud knock on the door. She opened her eyes groggily, and was both surprised and amused to find herself curled against Angel with his arm draped across her back. She wriggled out from under it and sat up, chuckling to herself as she recalled it had only been a month since she'd made him sleep tied to a chair. Now here they were spooning like it was the most natural thing in the world. The knock came again, and annoyed, Annie glanced at the door, then back down at Angel, who was still sleeping the sleep of the dead. He would be in the direct path of the sun when she opened the door. She pulled the blanket up, so he would be completely covered, then groaning, tumbled out of bed and hobbled her way to the door.

She peered out to find a slender, mustached Italian man carrying a tray of what Annie presumed to be food of some sort, and speaking excitedly in Italian. Annie didn't understand a word of it, but guessed he must be the man responsible for their current living situation. After a quick glance over her shoulder to see that Angel was still well covered, she stepped aside to let the man enter. Still speaking animatedly, the man looked around for a place to set the tray, until he spied a crate Annie had overturned in the corner, as part of her redecorating, below one of the boarded-up windows. He gave her an approving nod, and set the tray there. He paused in his ramblings, looking at Annie expectantly, as if waiting for a response.

_I assumed he had asked me a question, and I felt like a complete jackass just standing there with my mouth hanging open. I started to tell him I didn't speak Italian, but about halfway through- I'm sure this has happened to you before- I realized I _was_ speaking Italian. It was like I went, "I'm sorry. I don't parlo italiano." And of course, he laughed at me. And said something like, "You sound fine to me." And suddenly I could understand him! Like somebody flipped a switch! Of course, now, I take it for granted, but back then, I thought it was about as amazing as the flush toilet! Was it like that for you, too?_

Actually, for me, it happened while trying to read the Pergamum Codex. Yes, it was the very same Codex Angel gave Giles our first year in Sunnydale. It was like, one minute it was complete gibberish, and the next it was, okay it was still gibberish, but it was English gibberish at least. But that's not really the point is it? The point is, yes, I knew what she meant.

It took Annie a moment to acclimate to suddenly being able to understand and speak a language to which she had not previously been exposed, but once she had, she apologized, saying she was still groggy and asked the gentleman to repeat himself, again apologizing that she didn't know his name. He cursed his own oversight and introduced himself as Nicolo Baccini, and after Annie responded appropriately, he inquired after her health, and Angel's. In reply, Annie indicated the lump in the bed, making a comment about him being "dead to the world". Nicolo nodded sympathetically, commenting on the state they had both been in upon their arrival, then proceeded to reveal the traditional Italian breakfast he had brought for them to share, which included coffee, juice, and a variety of homemade pastries and jams. Annie thanked him profusely for his hospitality, promising she and Angel would be on their way just as soon as they were able.

_He's like, "Fuhget about it!" Ok. No. He didn't say that. Not exactly, but that was the gist. He said we could stay as long as we liked, and suggested that maybe once we felt better we might like to fix up the room. Y'know with paint, decorations, and what not. Of course, he didn't say it specifically, but I think he was looking for some cheap and/or free labor, and saw us as an opportunity to get it. _[shrugs]_I didn't mind. It actually sounded a lot better than going back out there and doing it all over again. I mean it's not like we had anywhere to be._

After Signore Baccini departed, Annie relit the lantern, then sat down and consumed the entire breakfast, Angel's portion included. After all, it wasn't as if he needed it, being on a liquid diet as he was. When she was finished, she went in and took a long leisurely bath, reveling in the hot water which flowed directly from the pipes. She stayed there until the water was almost ice cold, and her skin shriveled up like a prune. She dried off, donned one of the new old dresses from Signora Baccini, then brushed her hair to a shine and pinned it back with some combs that had belonged to her adoptive mother. At last feeling a little more human and a little less like something the cat dragged in, she sat down at the makeshift table, and set to updating the Family Diary with all that happened since she and Angel had made First Contact.

Some minutes later, she was startled from her writing when Angel suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, ready to engage in a fight to the death with an imaginary intruder. Annie looked at him confused and concerned, as he demanded to know who else was in the room with them. Annie told him that while their gracious host had been by earlier, that had been some time ago, and the two of them were now completely alone. Angel looked around puzzled for a moment, sputtering about how he had heard someone else in the room, and that was what had woken him.

_And I'm like, Noo… It's just us here. Honest. And then he gets this really weird look on his face and he starts looking at me like…I don't know. Like I grew horns or something, or like I was some previously undiscovered germ under a microscope at the C.D.C. and he was the scientist. Y'know? And I started to ask him what the hell he was looking at, and he shushed me! I couldn't believe it! I mean for all our joking around and getting along and everything, he had NEVER told me to shut up before, but now he didn't even think twice about it. Didn't even apologize for it. I really wanted to punch him the nose, but I was just so shocked, I just sat there dumbfounded._

_And I watched him staring at me like I was the most interesting thing in the universe. Cockin' his head back and forth like a dog first time he sees a caterpillar or something. Like…well, like that look my dad sometimes gets when he's sussin' something out? And I could practically hear the gears turning, then he starts lookin' me up and down and I shit you not, he actually started sniffing the air! It was the most disturbing thing I had ever seen in my life! And he's still looking at me all intent like, then gets up and starts stalking towards me. Yeah. Stalking. That's the only way to put it. So I stood up, too, cuz I didn't know what-the-fuck, and he gets right up in my face and starts boring holes into me with his eyes, like he's trying to climb inside my brain. And he grips me about the shoulders, then looks down for a second, then all of a sudden he gets this huge smile, and his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. And the next thing I know he's got me in this death grip of a bear hug and before I even have a chance to say, "Uh, Angel, still need to breathe, here," he pulls back and kisses me square on the forehead!_

_And before I have a chance to recover from __that__ shock, he comes back and plants one right on the lips! And while I'm coughin' and sputterin' and tryin' to figure out the what the fuck he was smokin', he's ramblin' on about how" it all makes sense now," and "this is so great," and why didn't he realize it before, and just carrying on like a crazy person askin' me how long have I known and why didn't I tell him, and I'm just… flabbergasted! I didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about!_

_**I was just so excited that I hadn't wiped you all out of existence, that there was another generation on the way, it didn't even occur to me that she wouldn't know. I mean, how could she not, right? But either she was the world's best actress, or else she really didn't know. So I tried to sit her down, which I always hated doing, by the way, because I never knew how she was going to react. I mean, at least with you, I know it's pretty much a given you're going to try to set me on fire. But with Annie, I just never knew. Anyway, I figured this was probably the kind of thing she'd want to be sitting down for…**_

_And then he's like, "_[deep, mocking voice_] __Maybe you should sit down." And __then__ the son-of-a-bitch actually has the __nerve __to put his __hands__ on me and try to __make__ me sit down? Like just because I didn't make his ass sleep on the floor, that gave him the right to manhandle me any old time he felt like it? I don't __think__ so! So I shook him off and I'm like, "Just tell me, already!"_

_**So I said, "Well, Annie, you're pregnant." She just gives me this blank stare, like I was speaking…Sumerian or something. At first I wasn't sure she heard me. Then she starts laughing this maniacal cackle. I don't think I've ever heard anything like it, before or since. It caught me off guard, so I started laughing too. And… that's when she hit me.**_

[laughing]_He went down like a ton o' bricks! Sat there lookin' up at me with those sad puppy dog eyes of his eyes, lookin' all surprised, like. I don't know why. I mean, I spent my whole life learning out to fight. Vampires, specifically. So of course I knew how to put some oomph behind my punches. Fortunately, he had the good sense to stay down. Because if he'd gotten up, I guarantee there would've been bloodshed. At least. I was pissed. I thought it was some kind of joke. No way I was pregnant. Well, obviously, I was, but I didn't know that. I thought, "What kind of sick, demented asshole…" And I told him so. I just went off. And he looks at me all innocent and goes, __[mocks]__ "But, Annie, it's true. I can hear them." Then he launches into this lecture about how it's always twins, yada yada, blah, blah, blah, like I don't __know__? Like suddenly he's some kind of expert? Oh. Well, I guess he is. But still! It really pissed me off! So it came down to two choices. Either haul his arse off the floor and whale on him for real, or get the fuck out. So I left._

_**Didn't even bother to close the door. And it was like, I don't know. Three o'clock in the afternoon, I guess. It was daytime, anyway. And I was right in the line of fire. I had to try to throw myself out of the way, and then somehow make my way back over to the door to close it, without going up like a match. **_[looks at me] _**You would've laughed.**_[I _was_ laughing]

**Empty Hands, Heavy Hearts**

Unable to do anything else, after he closed the door, Angel sat on the bed and waited for Annie to cool down and return to the hotel room. It quickly became apparent that she hadn't just gone out for quick breather, and it wasn't long before Angel began to worry that she wasn't coming back at all. He passed the seemingly endless time until sunset by first trying to straighten up the room, and then by pacing the floor enough to leave clear tracks marks on the hardwood. By the time the last of the sun's rays finally left the Italian landscape, Angel had worked himself into such a frenzy, he practically tore the door off its hinges in his attempt to escape the cramped living quarters and once again go on the hunt for Annie. He hoped this time, he would find her in a better condition than he had the previous two times.

He spent the entire night tearing the town apart (figuratively speaking, of course) looking for her, neglecting his own needs in the process. He talked the hotel's owner, and its employees. He went into every shop that was open, spoke to everyone he saw, asking if they had seen her. When all of that failed, he began knocking on doors, rousing scores of angry Italians, including small children, from otherwise peaceful slumbers. No one admitted to having seen anyone matching Annie's description, or if they did, they claimed to have seen twenty people matching her description; at that time, she didn't look much different than your average Italian woman of the same age. Some refused to answer him at all, and merely slammed the door in his face, or threatened him with bodily harm, sometimes both. When the sky began to turn from black to indigo with the approaching dawn, Angel was forced to give up his search and return to the hotel empty handed.

With a heavy heart, Angel arrived back at the room minutes before sunrise. Convinced he had lost the only real friend he had ever had, up to that point, he was so distraught he barely had the strength to open the door. For a moment, he even contemplated not opening it all, instead letting the sun take him as it stole the remaining darkness from the landscape. In the end, it was the memory of Christiana, and all the other innocents he had snuffed out of existence over the years, that forced him over the threshold. As great as he perceived his own suffering, he knew it was nothing compared to the suffering he had caused to others, and the sweet release of death was not his gift to receive.

He found Annie sitting on the bed, waiting for him, in the exact place he had sat waiting for her. As he closed the door behind him, she immediately rose, expressing concern for his well-being, given the late hour. It was the first time she had ever done so, when it didn't seem like she was doing it out of obligation. The irony of Annie worrying about him, while he was out scouring the town from top to bottom looking for her, was not lost on him, and he couldn't help but laugh. As she crossed the floor to meet him, she apologized for having struck him earlier, which was another first for her. He had been certain he had lost her forever. Now here she was before him, apologizing to him, when there was so much for which he should be apologizing to her. It was more than Angel was prepared to deal with, and he found himself suddenly overcome with emotion. He crossed the remaining distance to where she stood, and drew her into his arms for a gentle yet firm embrace. After a moment's hesitation, she returned the gesture, and he buried his face in her hair, pleading with her not to run out on him again.

_I think that was when I started seeing him as a person, and not just a job, or the asshole that killed my sister. Which is not to say we didn't get along, or we weren't friends (well, sort of), before that, but it was more a case of making the best out of a bad situation. I was there because I had to be, and it didn't matter if he wanted me there or not, or if I wanted to be there. Y'know? We were stuck with each other. Then to find out he not only wanted me there, but __depended__ on me being there, which I guess I already knew, or should've known, but to hear him say it… It changed the whole game for me…So I reminded him that I wasn't going to be around forever. I was only human, after all. Eventually, I wouldn't have a choice._

_**But I wanted that to be way in the future. I thought it was over. I didn't know that-…I thought she had 50 or 60 years left. **_[suddenly angry]_** She should've, damn it! **_[looks at me]_** You all should have lived to be grey-haired old ladies. Died safe and warm in your beds surrounded by fat grandchildren. Not like…**_[runs out of steam, shakes head, sorrowfully]_** Not like they did…Your mom had the right idea, you know. Leaving?**_

At the mention of my mother, I wanted nothing more than to slap the shit out of him. I have always seen my mother's actions as cowardly, a slap in the face to all who had come before her. It is one of the few things Kestryl and I agree on, and though we interacted briefly when Angelus was running lose in Sunnydale, and I birthed my own daughters at her house in autumn of 1999, neither of us have ever forgiven her for lying to us about our heritage. Nonetheless, I decided to hear Angel out.

_**It's the only reason she's still alive, and you know it. If you stay here **_[meaning Kestryl and I],_** you know it's only a matter of time…Frankly, I don't know how you lasted this long. Especially you. By all rights, you should be dead now. After everything you went through- What I put you through…I don't know how you survived it. Let alone how you could be sitting here talking to me.**_

How I survived was simple. Sheer force of will had a lot to do with it, to be sure, but he didn't become known as a master torturer by letting his victims die before he was finished with them. Angelus knew exactly how far he could push that proverbial envelope, and when he had to back off. He's a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. With today's medical technology, he could keep you alive indefinitely, if he so chose, and never run out of new and inventive ways to make you suffer. Had I been anyone else, and had he not agreed to a magically enforced deadline, I would have still been chained in a room somewhere when Buffy finally sent him to Hell, and far worse for the wear than I am now.

As to how I could sit there talking to him, by that point, I couldn't. As long as I don't have to think about it too much, I'm fine. While I'll never be able to forget, short of some magical intervention, I can usually shove it to the back of my mind, and pretend it was just some horrible nightmare with no basis in reality. But the second somebody (Angel, especially) confronts me with it, it's like I'm back in the Factory, and I have to go away. Which is what I did. I would not have any further lengthy interactions with Angel until Christmas Eve, going into Christmas Day, of that same year.

Apart from discussing the eventuality of Annie's demise, Angel and Annie also discussed how best to handle the unexpected future additions to the Gallagher/O'Connor clan. Initially, Annie stayed firmly in denial, insisting (or perhaps hoping) that what Angel had heard was in fact indigestion, and not two extra heartbeats sounding from within Annie's abdomen. He assured her that was not the case (he knew the difference between gas and a heartbeat), and the discussion moved on to what she intended to do about it.

_The timing could not have been worse. Not that a better time would even have been possible, but still. It was just really shitty. While I was waiting for him to come back, I'd had a vision, sort of. Nothing real clear. Mine hardly ever were. Just vague impressions, a few random images. A war zone, which I now know was the Boxer Rebellion, in China, Darla, my dad, Dru, and this overwhelming…foreboding, I guess. I knew I was going to die. I didn't know how, yet, or when, but I knew it was coming. Soon. So I couldn't be pregnant. I just couldn't._

Of course, she was, and though she didn't want to believe it, she knew deep down that Angel was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie about such a thing, and she trusted his judgment, at least in this case. If he said he heard heartbeats, then he must have heard heartbeats. And if she really thought about it, she had sensed it too, before this. She was just too stubborn to accept it. Once Angel forced her to accept it, and once she had calmed down some, her first course of action was to find a way to rectify the situation. Though medical advancements were a long ways from the availability of safe abortions, she had heard of folk remedies that performed the same function, and she immediately began flipping through The Book in search of just that.

_Of course Angel was horrified at the idea. That I would even consider such a thing, but I'm like, "What do you wanna do? Raise them?" Mommy and Grandpa Angel who drinks V-8 and sleeps all day, and for some reason never seems to get any older? It was ridiculous. Plus there was the whole impending death thing, which I didn't mention at the time, so that wasn't even an option. The way I saw it then, there was no option. I couldn't raise them, so I couldn't have them. Period. But Angel begged me to find another way. I told him, "No. __You__ find another way. And you'd better come up with something before I do. 'Cause when I do, I'm not wasting time fucking around." Okay, I didn't say "fucking around", but that was the gist._

_Well, Angel must've really thought I was gonna find something in the next 20 minutes or so, 'cause he just starts spoutin' out everything that springs to mind. For the most part, we avoided talking about anything that had to do with his past, the things he'd done, especially with regards to the family. Or if we did talk about it, I was the one that brought it up. Usually to torment him. So when he brought up The Foundling, I knew he must've been desperate. I didn't even know what The Foundling was. I had only just skimmed through The Book before that, and it had been years since I'd even opened it, except to write my own entries in it. So he had to explain to me what it was, and how he knew about it, risking any number of… less than pleasant reactions from me. Yeah, I know I was prone to mood swings. Or am. __[shrugs]__ It runs in the family._

Having had her own less than stellar experiences in an orphanage, Annie vetoed that idea almost before Angel was done talking about it. She pointed out that, as Angel himself admitted, he had had no problem finding and killing Rebecca while she and Moira were in that very same orphanage he was now suggesting she send her own children to. He reminded her that not only had he been without a soul at the time, but he had found them because he had been watching them, following them from their infancy. She countered by reminding him of the orphanage in Belgium that she and Christiana had been in, when he and Darla had visited. While he had been unaware that Annie and Christiana had been there, he remembered the two little girls who had stolen his carriage, and he remembered the children who had failed to escape with them, and had then fallen dead at his hands. He immediately agreed that sending his newest grandchildren to an orphanage was not a viable option.

While Annie searched The Book, in vain, for some sort of herbal abortion, Angel continued to rack his brain, desperate to find an alternative before Annie found what she was looking for. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, something someone told him once, something important. He struggled to remember, as the sound of pages turning marked the passage of time, ticking off the seconds like the timer on a bomb.

_I could hear him muttering next to me, and I could tell he was on the verge of something. At least I hoped he was, because I was having zero luck. Then all of a sudden, he pops up like a jack-in-the-box and goes, "The Slayer!" Which had nothing to do with anything, as far as I was concerned, then he says that Mary had mentioned training with the Slayer, which by itself was completely useless information, but it reminded __me__ of something __I__ had read. About the Council._

**The Waiting Game**

With renewed hope, Annie began flipping through The Book so vigorously she nearly tore the well-worn pages. After several agonizing minutes, she finally found what she was looking for: the contact information for the Council of Watchers. She tore a blank page out of The Book and composed a letter to the Council asking for their assistance. She explained who she was, and how she knew of them, dropping all the pertinent names likely to elicit a response. While she did mention Angelus, as part of identifying herself, she didn't mention that he now had a soul, and wasn't about to admit that they were now cohabitants. Once finished, she folded the page neatly, and took it to Signore Baccini to be sent out.

While there, she discussed her situation with him, and the possibility of fixing up their room, as had been previously proposed. Nicolo was overjoyed both by Annie's news, and the prospect of cheap labor. He promised to get her the necessary materials and deliver them to the room within the next day or so, and that's how she and Angel passed the time waiting to hear back from the Council. Annie did what she could during the day, while Angel slept, and at night he took care of the bigger jobs, like replacing the window, and painting those hard to reach places. Occasionally, they worked together, when a job was too big to be completed by a single pair hands, like assembling the bed frame, or hanging the new curtains.

Despite the obvious damage to the hotel room, it turned out that it looked worse than it actually was, and the entire project was completed in less than a week. Unfortunately, that was a week in which Angel neglected his nutritional needs. He was so excited by the approaching arrival of the next generation of Gallagher twins (and perhaps a tad overprotective), that he was reluctant to leave Annie alone while he went hunting.

_I remember waking up in the middle of the night, the first night after we were finished with everything. I still couldn't say for sure what it was that woke me up, but I found Angel sitting in the chair next to the bed, watching me. By itself, that wasn't so weird. I knew he liked to watch me sleep; I'd caught him before. That didn't bother me so much. Sorta like having a guardian angel. Get it? But this time, there was just something…off about him somehow. I couldn't really see him that well in the dark, though there was __some__ light coming in from the window, but there was something about the way he held himself, that sorta set off alarm bells. I asked him what was wrong, and even the way he said, "Nothing," just sounded really… wrong. I waved him down to my level __[demonstrates]__, so I could feel his face, in case it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. I barely touched him, and he reels back like I slapped him._

_I never jumped out of bed quite so fast in my life! Like it was on fire! I jumped up and grabbed him by the shirt collar and drug him to the door, then half pulled, half pushed, half kicked him out of it. Then I slammed the door shut behind him and locked it. I told him, "Don't come back until you handle your shit!" Or something to that effect. He tried to argue with me, saying it wasn't what I thought, he was fine, blah, blah, blah. But I wouldn't hear it. I said, "You'd better hurry up. You've only got a few more hours till sunrise!" then I turned my back on him. I think he must've stayed out there another thirty minutes or so, begging to be let back in, before he finally figured out I wasn't gonna stand down. He came back about an hour so before sunrise, I guess it was. But I made him stay out there till the last possible second. Punishment for not taking care of himself. I mean, there was really no excuse! And you can bet he took care of his shit after that!_

It was nearly Christmas before they finally received a reply from the Council. They were quite familiar with her family, and said they would be more than happy to help with her situation. She would receive the best medical care the Council had at their disposal, and her children would be placed in the safest environment possible.

_But they wanted us to go to the Council Headquarters in London. After everything we went through just to get to Milan, there was no way either one of us was looking to do any more traveling any time in the near future. I nearly died the last time. And especially being pregnant, with __twins__, there was just no way in __HELL__ I was gonna do it again. And definitely not during the winter. I mean, Milan was pretty mild compared to some places, but it was still pretty miserable. And they wanted me to travel through even worse places to get to them? And not even pay for me to travel in style? Yeah. Not gonna happen._

Annie wrote a return letter explaining her unwillingness and inability to travel so great a distance. She told them she would be willing to travel a shorter distance if they had offices nearby, while at the same time expressing her preference to have one of their representatives come to her. She estimated her due date, and included that in the letter as well. She sent off her reply, and the waiting game began anew. This time, due to the harsh winter weather, and the unreliability of the mail service at the time, it would be months before they received any further word from the Watchers' Council, and they began to wonder if they ever would.

In the meantime, Angel and Annie continued to live as they had been. During the day, Annie would take her meals in the hotel diner, doing some light work in the office in exchange. At night, they would eat together in their room, then Angel would spend an hour or two tending to his own nutritional needs, before taking his turn behind the desk. He always returned before Annie turned in for the night, insisting he be there to watch over her while she slept. When Annie began to grow too heavy to make the short trek to the main part of the hotel even to eat, let alone work, Annie reluctantly quit her job in the office, and Angel followed suit soon after, adamant that she needed round-the-clock care. Claiming a skin condition as the reason Angel couldn't collect their meals in Annie's place, arrangements were made to have their entrees delivered.

As winter gave way to Spring, and the days grew steadily warmer and longer, Annie's abdomen continued to grow to seemingly impossible proportions. Every day she became increasingly dependent on Angel to attend to even her most basic of needs. There had still been no word from the Council and they began to lose hope that they ever would. Annie prayed that if they did respond, their assistance would not be contingent on Annie making the journey to England. By this time, she could not have done so if she had wanted to. Her due date mere weeks away, she could barely make the journey to the bathroom.

_Oh, it was awful! I couldn't even get out of bed on my own! Angel had to help me every friggin' time! Like twenty times a day or more! Seemed like I had to pee every five minutes. And then once I was up, I couldn't get back down. Angel had to help me every step of the way. Literally! And forget about bathing! It was a sink full of soapy water and a rag. More than that, and it would've been too much for either one of us to put up with. Angel was already doing everything for me as it was. I don't think he ate anything the whole time he was taking care of me. Or if he did, I never saw him. And he was lookin' pretty ragged when it was all said and done._

**Lunchtime Offerings**

In the late morning of Sunday, May 14, 1899, Annie finished her ritual sink-bath, then allowed Angel to help her into the cushioned rocking chair by the window, which had taken the place of the hard, straight-backed chair, at the dining table, as Annie progressed into the final trimester of her pregnancy. For what was likely the umpteenth time, Annie commented on how grotesque she thought she looked, to which Angel countered that in his eyes, she looked beautiful. He told her, "That's Life you've got there. And there's nothing more beautiful than that."

As he eased her into her chair, then took his place across from her at the table, she looked at him gratefully, and noted just how worn out he was starting to look. Though he spoke words of love and hope, his mannerisms relayed exhaustion and woe. His eyes seemed hollow and bore dark circles beneath them; his skin, if possible, appeared even paler than usual. His hair, in which he had previously taken such pride, had grown almost to his shoulders, and was now stringy and unkempt. Where he had once made it a point to shave every day, whether he needed to or not, he now had several days of growth, and was well on his way to having a full-fledged beard. Annie couldn't help but wonder how long this had been happening, and knowing the burden of caring for her was the cause, felt instantly guilty for not having noticed it sooner. She voiced her concerns, asking if he had been taking care of himself, and when he had last fed. He responded curtly that he was "fine," and flat out refused her suggestion that he take some time for himself come nightfall. As it was the first time Angel had ever spoken to her in this manner, Annie let the subject drop and the two fell into an uncomfortable silence broken by the sounds of business as usual outside their room, and the intermittent attempt by one or the other of them to make small talk. They each avoided the primary subject on both their minds. Would they ever hear back from The Watchers' Council? What were their options if they didn't?

As happened every day, a knock sounded on their door just around noon, signaling the arrival of the noon meal. Angel got up to answer it, careful to avoid the sun's rays as Sofia, the eldest Baccini child entered with the cartload of assorted lunchtime offerings. The pretty 17 year old wore a colorful sundress, befitting the warm Spring weather, her hair pulled off her neck in a loose pony tail. Angel closed the door behind the girl, and as she described the menu, Annie couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable Angel seemed in her presence. His remained firmly planted in front of the door, just to Annie's right. He held his arms rigidly at his sides, compulsively clenching and unclenching his fists, as he shifted nervously from one foot to the other as if he had to pee. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he grit his teeth, which he generally only did when he was angry. Following the direction of his gaze, Annie quickly realized that anger was not the issue currently plaguing him.

_I'm pretty sure Sofia didn't notice. She was too busy trying to flirt with him. She probably thought he was staring at her boobs, which I'm sure is what she was going for in that outfit. I think she had a bit of a crush on him. But I knew he was really looking just a wee bit north. I could tell he was trying not to, bless his heart, but I think he'd just gone without for so long that he couldn't help it. He looked like he was gonna vamp out at any second. I could almost see it just beneath the surface, like he was barely holding it in, and I swear on my mother's grave- if she __had__ a grave- that I actually heard him growl._

_I reached out and grabbed his hand, trying to anchor him or whatever, and he squeezed back so hard I thought he was going to break my hand. Just when I was about to say, "Okay, thanks! Don't let the door hit ya!" she finally stopped yammering long enough to give us the letter. By then, I could actually feel Angel tremoring through my hand. So then I did kick her ass out. Politely, of course. Only problem was Angel was still standing in front of the door. And he was showing __no__ signs of budging. So I kinda tugged on his arm to get his attention and I'm like__ [out of the side of her mouth]__, "Angel, let her leave!" And finally he reaches over and pulls the door open for her._

_He closed it behind her, and then he really did vamp out. But just for a second, before he pulled it back in, and sorta… collapsed against the door. Then he just sat there on the floor shaking and rocking back and forth. And he screwed his eyes shut real tight [demonstrates] like it was taking all his concentration just to maintain. I felt so bad for him. I was half tempted to call her back and just let him have her. And if I'd have thought we could've gotten away with it, I just might have. I mean I was this close __[holds up thumb and index finger an inch apart]__. Except…__[trails off as she glances toward Buffy and friends]__…Nevermind. So I pulled him toward me, and I'm like, "It's okay. It's just us here. Let it out." I mean, we'd already seen each other naked and covered in yuck, so what's a couple of fangs? But he's like __[mocking]__, "No, I can't. If I let it out, I won't be able to pull it back in!" Well, I couldn't help but laugh, and I'm like, "You just did!_

Still holding Angel's hand, Annie gave his arm a short tug, drawing him near. He crawled over to her and rested his head in her lap, like a small child with his mother. She began softly stroking his hair, offering what comfort she could, as he lamented his unbidden urge to attack Sofia.

_He was crying, and he said, "I wanted to hurt that girl." And I said, "I know you did. I could see it all over you. And no one could've stopped you, if you tried. And I wouldn't have blamed if you did." Then I asked him again how long it had been since he last fed. He said he couldn't remember. And I'm like, "Well, no wonder you wanted to rip her throat out!" then he's like, "No. You don't understand." And I knew he was about to tell me it wasn't just her throat he wanted to rip, but I cut him off. I said, "The point is, you didn't. And no one stopped you but you." Then I said, "We can't control our emotions, Angel. And it's pointless to even try. We feel what we feel. It can't be helped. We can only control what we __do__. And you did."_

Annie then convinced him that given that they were alone, it was okay to relax and, "let it all fang out." After some trepidation, he did, and Annie said the change in his posture and demeanor was immediate and profound, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, in the simple act of revealing his true face. They spoke some more about how far Angel had come since they first met, and how much their relationship had changed since their first night together. She expressed her gratitude and appreciation for all he had done to care for her while she'd been unable to do so herself, admonishing him not to neglect himself in the process.

_I said, "You still gotta look after number one." Then he looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes of his, which doesn't quite have the same effect when they're all yellow and demony, and he says, "I am." [rolls eyes] Ever the charmer._

While Angel set about serving lunch, Annie finally opened the letter Sofia had delivered from The Watchers' Council. They apologized for their thoughtlessness in asking her to travel unassisted all the way back to Britain, in the middle of winter, given her delicate condition. They went on to assure her that a representative would arrive in Italy well before her due date to provide her with any assistance she might need, before, during and after the birth. The news came as a great relief to both of them, and the tension, that been building since December, dissipated instantly.

With one less thing to worry about, Annie tried one more time to convince Angel to take some time off that evening to tend to his own needs. Angel continued to balk at the notion of leaving her alone, worried that something might happen in his absence. Annie assured him she would be fine on her own for a couple of hours, reminding him she still had several weeks before she was due to give birth. He promised to consider it, and Annie invited him to at least partake of some of the rich Italian cuisine, the Baccinis had gone out of their way to prepare for them. He declined, saying she should eat as much of it as she could, since she was eating for three. After making sure Annie had everything she needed, and asking three times if she would be all right, Angel excused himself to the bathroom, saying he wanted to clear his head with a hot soak.

As he began to strip down for his bath, Angel wondered aloud if he should shave off his beard. Annie recommended leaving it to reduce the chance of being recognized by the Council. As he voiced his agreement and turned to head towards the bath, Annie jokingly asked him if he "needed a hand", as he had frequently asked her every time she went in there. He held up both of his hands, and wriggled his fingers at her, replying that he already had two.

_So I'm like, "You sure you don't need three?" And I could swear I heard him mutter something like, "I only need one." _[shutters]_ But he refused to repeat it._

**Distractions and Contractions**

Angel retreated to the bath as Annie struggled to rid her mind of the disturbing image conjured by their last exchange. As if he thought he wouldn't hear her if she needed him, he left the door partly open. As she ate her lunch, she searched the room for any sort of distraction. She spied The Book lying on the nightstand by the bed, where she had been perusing it earlier. Remembering what Angel had told her about Mary's abilities, she decided to find out if she possessed any of the same gifts. Concentrating intently, she pointed at The Book, trying to get it to move with her mind. Just when it seemed like she was having some success, as The Book began to tremble as if in an earthquake, one of the developing twins kicked her so violently in the ribs she felt sure they would break. As she suddenly doubled over in pain, The Book flew across the room, knocking over several items on the food cart on its way to the table, where it crashed into some plates, and tipped over her drinking glass.

A loud splash sounded from the bathroom as Angel stopped whatever it was he was doing to ask if she was all right. Annie responded in the affirmative, taking a few deep breaths as she waited for the pain to subside. After a moment or two it did, and she opted to forego further mind exercises for the moment and returned her attention to her lunch. She began to feel nauseous after a few forkfuls and decided to lie down. Not wanting to interrupt Angel's bath, she braced herself on the table as she stood, then used the food cart for a walker as she gingerly made her way to the bed. She made it halfway before she was struck by her first contraction. As she doubled over for the second time, she inadvertently shoved the cart, sending it sailing across the room to slam into the wall by the bathroom. She toppled towards the floor, and was saved in the nick of time by Angel, stark naked and dripping wet.

_He caught me just before I hit the ground, which was good, but I didn't much care for the mouthful of knee or the eyeful of… his meat and potatoes that I got in the process. Not a pretty sight. Wait. Scratch that. On second thought…_

I had to cut her off there, as I didn't much want to hear her or anyone else's opinion of Angel's "meat and potatoes". I had had more than my fair share of that particular cuisine over the previous winter, and I didn't much care for it. Without Annie's colorful food metaphors, basically what happened was this. As Angel attempted to scoop Annie off the floor, she was treated to a full, unobstructed view of his matched luggage, which looked like it was packed for an extended holiday. More than a little vexed at the sight, she tersely asked if he would mind "putting that thing away". He looked down as if just realizing his present state of undress, then promised to grant her request after _she_ was safely put away.

She nodded her assent, and he helped her to her feet, then carefully walked her to the bed. After arranging the pillows behind her, and assuring himself that she was safe and secure, Angel stowed his belongings as he had promised, while Annie tried to explain what had happened. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she decided against telling him about her telekinesis attempt, revealing only that she had gotten sick and didn't want to bother him, then had had a contraction.

As he had been prone to do throughout her pregnancy, Angel immediately went into panic mode, instinctively running for the door. When asked what he thought he was doing, Angel stated matter-of-factly that we was going for the doctor. Annie patiently reminded him that it was the middle of the day, and went on to assure him that this was likely a false alarm. She had seen it happen with dozens of the women in her tribe, and was certain that was the case here, as it was still quite early in her pregnancy. Angel remained unconvinced, but Annie insisted she was fine, apart from feeling a little sick. She told him she was going to lie down for a while, and asked if he would join her. He did, loosely draping his arm around her mid-section, and they both giggled when one of the babies suddenly kicked hard enough to knock him away. A few minutes later, Annie was sound asleep. As he laid there listening to her, lulled by the steady rhythm of his grandchildren's heartbeats, and the sound of the younger two shifting in their cramped living quarters, it wasn't long before sleep claimed him as well.

Sometime just before dawn, Angel was awakened by the sound of Annie whimpering softly in her sleep, and crying out as though in a nightmare. As he lightly stroked her hair in an effort to sooth her, he briefly contemplated waking her, but decided against it when she shifted positions and fell quiet once more. As he leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on her cheek, a low rumble sounded from deep within him, and he felt his fangs run out as his true face came to bare. He rolled away from her, horrified, as he realized he had neglected himself for far too long, just as Annie had feared. A voice spoke to him from deep within his subconscious, trying to convince him to seek his relief in her. Just a taste wouldn't hurt, it tried to tell him. He quickly bounded out of bed, in an effort to resist the temptation. A taste _would_ hurt, he knew. Annie needed every drop she had for her children. Even if she were not pregnant, he knew she would have his hide for even considering such heinousness without her permission.

Instead, he moved to the door and pulled it open. He glanced over his shoulder one time to make sure Annie was still all right, then crossed the threshold to stand just outside. He scanned the immediate area in hopes that some stray animal might cross his path. At this point, though he abhorred the notion, he would even settle for a random passerby on their way home from the local tavern. He hoped Annie would forgive him if it came to that, praying with everything he had that it wouldn't. But God, it seemed, wasn't in the mood to answer the prayers of a vampire. The street was completely devoid of life, and it began to look as though Angel would not find release without venturing farther away, which he was unwilling to do. Just when it seemed he would have to carry his burden for another day, he spied a homeless man a few yards away, shambling towards him. Angel withdrew into the shadows of the doorway, waiting for the man to pass within striking distance. He wondered if he still had enough self-control to avoid killing the man, but knew his primary concern had to be for his own well-being and not for that of the hapless stranger.

The sound of approaching footsteps warned that Angel's moment would soon arrive, and he tensed, preparing to make his move. Just when he was about to pounce, a bloodcurdling scream rang out behind him. He sighed in frustration as he closed the door, the demon within him letting out a silent scream of its own. He turned to find Annie sitting bolt upright, breathing heavily, her skin white as a sheet, face contorted in a grimace of pain and fear. Putting aside his own needs yet again, he went to her, almost seeming to teleport across the room. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, and her eyes welled up with tears as she squeezed his hand harder than he would've thought possible. She confessed it was possible that she was in the early stages of labor, but said that wasn't what had awakened her. She'd had a nightmare, or more specifically, a vision.

_More of a certainty, really. I mean I'm sure the dream had more detail, but I couldn't remember it. Still can't. But I knew I wasn't gonna last much longer. I could practically see Death looming over me. Y'know, cloak, scythe, the whole nine yards. So I thought it was time to tell him what I knew while I still had the chance._

As you may already know, Christmas of 1998 was a particularly hard one. Angel had nearly lost his mind due to his torment at the hands of the First Evil and had come within a hair's breadth of possibly killing either Buffy or himself, or both. What you may not know, is that my twin, Kestryl, was always there for him as a willing surrogate for whatever the situation called for. It's one of the reasons we may never be as close as we once were, before coming to Sunnydale. In this particular instance, Kestryl's blind devotion to Angel became her undoing. When he fled Buffy's room to avoid doing the unthinkable, as The First was commanding him, Kestryl was there, as always. She never could stand to see him suffer. It was such a struggle for her, in fact, that rather than stay to support him when he was locked in the cage at Willy's, she abandoned him to my watch, knowing she would end up releasing him, which would have had a catastrophic impact on future events. With The First incessantly taunting him like shoving a whisky bottle in the face of an alcoholic, Angel was definitely suffering that night. And Angel has never had what you'd call stellar willpower. The fact that he had enough, that night, to jump out the window was a bloody miracle. So when Kestryl offered herself to him as a willing, non world-ending substitute for Buffy, my guess is Angel hesitated for a fraction of second, if at all. He drained her dry.

I declined accompanying Buffy, as I normally would have for research and slayage, to see to it that Angel finished what he started. No matter what anyone tells you, undead is better than dead, when there are no other options. After everything Kestryl had done for him the past three years, even choosing him over me, there was no way in Hell I was going to let him leave her for dead permanently. He owed it to her to bring her back. That was the real reason he was on that hilltop waiting for the sun. Not only because he was afraid of eventually doing the same to Buffy, or that he thought the world was better off without him. He had killed the one person who had truly stuck by him. Even when he was at his absolute worst, she had been there. And he killed her, selfishly, making yet another vampire, something he had sworn to himself he would never do.

So, after the snowfall that saved his life, it seemed fitting to discuss his last days with Annie, back in 1899. After all he'd been through recently, I told him it wasn't necessary to have this conversation now, under these circumstances, but he insisted. As he, Annie, Buffy, and I sat down in his living room, waiting for Kestryl to rise, he explained, mostly to Buffy, that he felt it was important for him to finally be completely honest with her about his past. This seemed as good a time as any, and the topic was a relatively safe place to start. While human friends and undead family slowly arrived in preparation for the party Kestryl had requested as her dying wish (about 2 months prior), Annie and Angel took turns regaling Buffy and I (and others as they arrived) with Annie's last days as a human, and her first days as a vampire. Angel began by describing the day he'd first learned Annie was going to die. He told us the first thing Annie said to him with regards to her dream, was that she wasn't "going to make it."

_**At first I thought she was just scared. I mean, who wouldn't be right? But she looked at me with such…conviction. She didn't just believe she was going to die, she knew it. Like she knew her own name. And she made me promise… She said she wasn't ready to go yet. That there was too much she still wanted to do. Too much she still needed to do. And I wasn't ready to lose her yet. We'd come so far. And we had finally… We were a family. And I couldn't lose that. Not yet. So I promised. I didn't wanna do it, but she made me. She made me promise.**_

Angel actually made several promises that night. The first, of course, was not to let her stay down when Death came to claim her. The second (though unnecessary) was to make sure her children were safe and well-cared for, in case she didn't survive to see to it herself. She wanted them to have a family, and not grow up in an orphanage or someplace equally cold and unfeeling. Additionally, she knew the Council would not understand or accept the new leaf Angel had turned over. If for any reason, they learned who he really was, they would go to great lengths to destroy him. She made him promise to do whatever he had to, to ensure that didn't happen, from keeping his identity secret, to killing them if necessary. His life, she told him, was far more important than any of theirs. Last, when it was all over, apart from seeing that she wasn't buried, she wanted him to chronicle his crimes in the Family Diary, or at least the ones he had committed against their people.

Angel made his promises, some more willingly than others, and the conversation moved on to other things. She finally told him about her earlier attempt at telekinesis which had preceded her collapse that afternoon. Despite his objections, she made a second endeavor, asserting that her previous efforts were not the cause of her fall. She went on to remind him that she was already in bed, and hence had nothing to worry about if she was wrong. As before, she pointed across the room at The Book. This time, with no distracting contractions to interfere, it floated over without incident, landing squarely in her outstretched hands. He congratulated her success, and after a brief celebration, she told him of the vision she had had the day she'd first learned of her pregnancy.

_**She said I had to go back. To Darla. I didn't want to. Not then. But she said it was "one of those things." That I didn't have a choice. Any more than she'd [Annie] had a choice about her life. Or I had chose to become a vampire.**_

That chapter of his life wasn't over, Annie explained. It could never be over until he went back and revisited it. He had never chosen to become a vampire. He didn't decide to regain his soul. Leaving Darla hadn't been his choice either. He needed to start again, and make the decision for himself. Until he did, he would never fully actualize the destiny the Powers-That-Be intended for him. Annie explained all of this to Angel that night, just as she explained it on Kestryl's re-birthday. Angel was of the opinion that the Powers were out to screw with him, and he therefore didn't much care what They wanted. He cared about Annie, though, and if it was what she wanted, then he was willing to go along with it. It wasn't at all what she wanted, but at the time she told him it was, as it was the only way he would agree.


	22. Life and Death

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Life and Death**

As Angel and Annie spoke, she was gripped by another contraction, this one more powerful than she had previously experienced. It was still too early to say for certain that it was "time," but in light of recent revelations, it gave them both cause for alarm. Angel turned toward the door, but saw through the curtains in the window that it was already too late to go for help. The sky had already lightened to the point that it was not safe for him to venture out. Even if he managed to retrieve a doctor, he'd never make it back to Annie in time, and he was determined not to let her suffer her ordeal without him. Fortunately, her spasm soon passed, granting them more time to discuss topics they had previously been avoiding. Annie tried to laugh it off like it was no big deal, but Angel took it as a sign that what she had told him was the truth. He realized his time with her, as the woman he had come to know, love and respect may very soon be coming to an end. He decided this was the time to tell her all the things he had been afraid to tell her before. If she was destined to die in the immediate future, he wanted there to be no secrets between them, when that inevitable moment arrived. Most importantly, he wanted her know the truth of him, while she still had the ability to care.

_And he let it __all__ hang out. _[bored]_ He told me about Sofia, and all the horrible things he had thought about doing to her. Or, as he put it, what the "Demon" wanted him to do, and that was why he suddenly wanted a bath so friggin' bad. _[rolls eyes] _Like I didn't already know. Like it wasn't written all over his face, and… other-wheres _[shudders]_. __And then he went into all the times he'd had similar thoughts about me (yak), and how he wanted to rip my throat out while I was sleeping_ [silences Angel's objection with a look]_, and went after that homeless guy instead. And on and on and __on__! I thought it would never end! I mean, for a guy __you__ all _[gestures to us humans in the room]_refer to as "Mr. Stoic," he just would not shut up! I swear. By the time he was done, I didn't know if I wanted to throw up, punch him in the nose, or just pass out from __boredom__. _[to Angel]_ I mean, did you __really__ think I didn't already know? That you could possibly keep __anything__ from me?_

Ultimately, Annie assured him that she understood, expressing her regret that she couldn't be of more help to him. She again conveyed her appreciation for all he had done for her, and soon fell victim to exhaustion, relaxing against the pillows and sinking once more into a peaceful slumber. While Angel paced the room like a caged animal, growing more and more agitated by the minute, Annie slept soundly until around two in the afternoon, at which point she woke up wailing like a banshee. This time, the attack lasted too long to pretend it was a false alarm. Angel sat with her, holding her hand while she breathed through the worst of the pain, then decided the time had come to seek help. Sunlight be damned!

He snatched one of the spare blankets off the foot of the bed, wrapped it tightly around himself like a berka, and went to the door. He warily stepped outside, and as he had done the previous night, stood just over the threshold, looking around for anybody who might be able to offer assistance. Unfortunately, due to the time of day, most of the town's citizens were still enjoying their midday meal, and therefore the street was almost as deserted as it had been the night before. Angel waited as long as he could until he started to sizzle, despite the heavy blanket, then had no choice but to retreat to the safety of their room.

Another contraction ripped through Annie like a locomotive, and she let out a string of curses so colorful it would have put even the heartiest sailor to shame (if that sailor happened to speak Romanian, that is). Angel quickly returned to her side, leaving the door open in case someone should happen by and hear Annie wailing, which she was doing quite a lot of.

_**I've never seen anyone in that much pain. **_[looks at me as if expecting an argument, but I keep it to myself]_** I thought she was going to die right then. And there was nothing I could do about it. **_[shakes head ruefully]_** I couldn't even go for help. I just felt so…useless.**_

This particular contraction seemed to go on forever, building to an impossible pitch. Annie threw herself at Angel and held on for dear life, as if squeezing and clawing the unlife out of him could somehow bring her own suffering to an end. She tried to breathe through it, turning a variety of colors in the process, but ultimately it was too much to bear, and she suddenly went limp in Angel's arms, the pain driving her to unconsciousness. Angel went straight into panic mode. After confirming that she wasn't dead, he gently laid her down on the bed, then jumped up, knocking over his chair, and made a beeline for the door. Without thinking, he dove outside, then quickly dove back in when he started to smoke. He called out to anyone who could hear, forgetting for a moment that he was in Italy, and hence had to speak Italian if he wanted anyone to listen. He quickly translated his ravings from English, refusing to give up until he got a response. For the first time since he had regained his soul, he was grateful that he didn't need to breathe. He was already growing hoarse by the time his cries were answered. Two young boys, about ten years old, had been playing in the street, and cautiously approached him. Angel quickly explained what was happening and sent them to retrieve a doctor.

After they left, he returned to Annie's side, and lightly held her hand, asking whatever higher power that would listen, to spare her life, at least a little while longer. He feared this might be The End Annie had spoke of earlier, and wondered if he would have to make good on his promise, sooner rather than later. He wasn't even sure if it was logistically possible. He couldn't do it now, for she needed be alive to birth her children, but later might be too late. The doctor was on his way (he hoped), and Angel had no idea how he would pull off such a feat in full view of witnesses. Though he loathed to wake her, knowing that doing so may also awaken her pain, he felt he had no choice. These matters needed to be discussed, and time was running out.

The problem was, Annie was out cold. She wasn't merely asleep, she was unconscious. For lack of a better word, she was in a coma. Up until now, the only experience Angel had had waking people from such a deep sleep was through inflicting severe pain. Annie was in plenty of pain as it was, and the last thing Angel wanted was to cause her more, but he was running out of options. Talking to her didn't work; shouting at her was useless. Desperate and frustrated, he lifted her by the shoulders and shook her, trying once more to get through to her by shouting. Without warning, his true face came to the foreground, as a low growl escaped his throat. Appalled, he quickly released her and backed away, struggling to bring himself back under control.

As he inhaled deeply in an attempt to regain his composure, he realized what it was that had brought on the change. Annie was bleeding. It was only a little, but after having gone weeks without, a little was enough. His inner demon screamed at him to capitalize on the moment. It was what she wanted, it tried to reason. She was likely done for already, it told him, and after all, he'd promised. The Demon made a good argument, and though Angel tried to resist, in the end, the temptation proved too great. He listened carefully for the sound of approaching humans, and hearing none, moved back to join Annie on the bed. He lifted her right arm, and gently slid her sleeve toward her elbow, exposing her wrist. He patted the back of her hand a few times in a final attempt to wake her, but to no avail. He tilted his head to her wrist, and just as his fangs pierced her flesh, he was rewarded with a haymaker to his right temple, powerful enough to knock him off his chair.

Angel picked himself up, his face displaying a mixture of shock and relief. Annie gripped her wounded arm protectively, trying to stop the flow of blood, as she looked at Angel with an expression of hurt, anger, and betrayal. He tried to defend himself saying he was only trying to wake her so they could talk, but she wouldn't hear it. In her eyes, Angel had committed the worst kind of sin. He had violated a sacred trust, and it didn't matter to her what his reasons were.

_It was all bullshit anyway. He may have genuinely wanted to wake me up, so we could "talk" or whatever, but it was just an excuse. The truth was, he was just hungry, and took advantage of the fact that I was passed out. A few more hours, and he could've had all of me, but he just couldn't wait._

Before they could argue further, the doctor finally arrived. He introduced himself as Medico Sanzio, and after a cursory examination, proclaimed that despite the overwhelming contractions and the horrendous pain that accompanied them, she was not yet ready to give birth. He told the pair that regardless of what Annie may be feeling, her body showed no signs of readiness, and he estimated that she still had weeks to go.

_I couldn't believe it! I mean, here I was, in more pain than I'd ever been in, in my __entire life__, bleedin' out my hoo-hah- I seriously felt like I was trying to pass a friggin' __planet__! And he's just all [adopts stereotypical Italian accent] "Ooh, so sorry. Not quite ripe yet. Nothing I can do." And then he just leaves! He is so lucky I couldn't get out of bed, because I seriously would've killed him! And wouldn't you know it, not ten minutes after he leaves, too late to call him back, it starts up all over again! And poor Angel- I couldn't even stay mad at him, I was in so much pain- he's like, "Is there anything I can do?" And I'm like, "Unless you wanna reach up there and pull these things outta me, then NO!" _

Annie spent the next several hours alternating between screaming bloody murder, and begging Angel to finish her off, sometimes both. Naturally, he refused to grant her request. He already wasn't crazy about the idea of turning her, and wasn't about to do so unless and until it was absolutely necessary. To do so now, would be counterproductive. It would be rather difficult for her to birth her children if she were dead. Angel gently reminded her of this fact, and she responded by suggesting he cut the babies out of her. If she were already dead, Annie reasoned, there would be no risk of killing her accidentally. Angel argued that while such a maneuver would pose no risk to Annie, the risk to her children was too great to ignore. He was no doctor. He had no idea where or how to cut and would likely slice clean through one or both infants. As much as he hated to see Annie suffer, he would do nothing that could potentially snuff out the lives he had once feared would never be. She was left with no choice but to bear the torture, as so many had before her (though perhaps of a different kind) begging for an end that seemed nowhere in sight. She faded in and out of consciousness from time to time, though Angel feared far too much for her life, and the twins' lives, to allow her to remain unconscious for very long.

After what seemed like an eternity, Annie was finally granted a reprieve as the contractions ceased sometime after midnight, allowing her some much needed rest. Recognizing her exhaustion for what it was, Angel let her sleep, remaining close by her side, alert for any changes in the three heartbeats that might indicate danger and the need to wake her up. After all the excitement, and days of self-neglect, it wasn't long before sleep came to claim Angel as well, until he was awakened a few hours after sunrise by an insistent knock on the door. Disoriented from sleep, Angel forgot the previous day's terror for a moment, and was unsure what had woken him. He quickly regained his senses, however, and after checking to make sure Annie and her children were still alive and well, he moved to the door, and pulled it open, careful to stand out of reach of the sun's harmful rays.

The woman on the other side introduced herself as Penelope Pryce, and Angel was immediately reminded of every nun he had ever come in contact with, sans habit. While she could not have been more than 35, she carried herself as a much older woman. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her dress revealed not a sliver of skin apart from her hands. Annie described her as a cross between Mary Steenburgen in Back to the Future III, and Maggie Smith in everything she's ever done. After confirming she was indeed in the right place, the woman breezed in without waiting for an invitation, her two female associates in tow, who themselves were mere teenagers. She looked at Angel with clear disdain, and for a moment Angel was sure she had recognized him, despite his several days outgrowth of facial hair. She showed no other signs of this though, and he relaxed as she completed the introductions. Ms. Pryce stated that she represented "The Council of Watchers of London" and was a trained midwife. The two young girls with her were her assistants, and while they had not yet completed their training, she assured Angel (who introduced himself as Liam Connors) that they were "quite capable".

As Angel started to bring the three newcomers up to speed on Annie's condition, the two teenagers took it upon themselves to shed some light on the situation and moved to open the thick curtains. Angel's bark of dissent was so sudden and harsh that it caused the visitors to freeze in their tracks. As the assistants stood stock still on either side of the window, the hands poised near the edge of the curtains and the three women stared at him with a mixture of shock, fear and suspicion, Angel quickly realized his mistake. His brain searched frantically for a logical explanation for his outburst as he imagined Ms. Pryce reaching in her dress for a stake. Fortunately, his loud bellow had also awakened Annie, and recognizing the cause of his distress, quickly spoke in his defense.

"_Forgive him," I said. "I've been unwell for quite some time, and the bright light hurts my eyes of late. He was only trying to protect me. I'm sure he didn't mean to startle you."_

This seemed to satisfy the Watcher and her young companions and they and Angel set about lighting the oil lamps scattered about the room. With the light at a satisfactory level, Ms. Pryce sat herself on the edge of Annie's bed (much to Annie's chagrin and disgust) and introductions were made again.

_I instantly didn't like her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was just something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was the way she immediately started trying to take over everything. Or maybe it was how she looked at Angel like he was something she'd stepped in. When she bothered to acknowledge him at all, that is. Or maybe I just didn't trust her on account of her being a Watcher and Angel being a vampire. Oh! And did I mention she was snooty? Yeah. That was probably it. She was a big ol' snoot and I didn't trust her as far as I could throw her._

But Annie had no choice but to trust the "big ol' snoot" as both time and options had run out. Another fierce contraction gripped Annie and the final act was under way. Ms. Pryce took an immediate no-nonsense approach to the situation and ordered her assistants to fetch clean towels and water straight away. Her next order of business was to attempt to shoo Angel out of the room, as it was considered inappropriate in those days for any man, apart from medical personnel, to be present during childbirth. Annie quickly quashed that idea, however, insisting that Angel remain by her side for the entire event.

_Naturally, the bitch tried to argue with me about it, in that condescending way every Watcher seems to have coded into their DNA. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid that's against the rules," she tells me. And I'm like, "What rules? You're in my house, in case you've forgotten, and the only rules that apply here are mine!" "Well, it's highly inappropriate," she says. "It just isn't done." Well, I basically told her that I didn't give a rat's ass about what was 'appropriate' and if she didn't like it, she could go and I would carry on without her even if it killed me. Then she throws her Hail Mary pass with _[mocking]_"But don't you think he'd be more comfortable if-" And finally Angel grows a sac and grabs my hand and says, "You heard her. I'm staying." And I coulda swore he growled when he said it- you know how he gets sometimes- and I had to check to make sure he hadn't vamped out on me._

Luckily, Angel hadn't 'vamped out', but his tone made it clear that the discussion was closed. However, Ms. Pryce would not be silenced until she made one last, albeit feeble attempt to remove the solitary male from the room by suggesting he retrieve a doctor from town in case there was complication that she, as a mere midwife, would be unequipped to handle.

_Now keep in mind, the whole while this is going on, I feel like I'm literally being ripped in half, and I'm hyperventilating from trying to maintain some sense of composure, sure that any minute my head's gonna spin all the way around while I start speaking in tongues and vomiting pea soup, and all this woman seems to care about is whether or not (gasp) there's a man in the room! So I not-so-politely suggested that one or both of her ass-istants do the doctor fetching. Though I may have used more colorful phrasing than that, possible implying that instead of midwifery, they were in fact training for the consumption of some sort cloth-like floor covering. And it's equally possible that I referred to Ms. Pryce as a Crazy Unattractive Nutty Tart. Or something to that effect._

Whatever the actual phrasing, Annie's outburst effectively silenced any further arguments from the prudish Watcher, and her young charges were all too happy to accept the doctor-retrieval mission. Ms. Pryce insisted, however, that she needed one of them to stay and assist, so only one was fortunate enough to escape Annie's pain-induced rantings. The other was forced to stay and hope the worst was over. While Annie's contractions continued to attack and retreat with increasing intensity and regularity, she managed to direct her profane outcries to the universe in general rather than aim them at the well-meaning individuals trying to help her. Angel, for his part, remained close by her side, just as he'd promised, doing what he could to keep her attention focused on him only, and not on the excruciating pain she was experiencing or the annoying British woman coaching her or the equally annoying teenager playing the cheerleader role.

Assistant #2 returned with Medico Sanzio, and the already chaotic atmosphere was thrown into overdrive. Annie was in full blown labor at this point, and the sight of the previously incompetent doctor caused her to let loose an explosive frenzy of anger and pain inspired expletives in every language, unsuitable for audiences of any age. Even Angel couldn't help but cringe at the inventive onslaught of profanity directed at the unsuspecting physician. Angel was tempted to remind her that while the doctor had grossly misjudged her due date, none of what she was experiencing was his fault, but decided that he was just as angry with the man for his inaccurate assessment of Annie's condition. He instead tried to persuade her that Sanzio's assistance could still prove useful, and he assured her that her fate, and that of her children would not rest in his incapable hands alone.

This seem to soothe her a bit and she begrudgingly accepted the doctor's help, as she focused once more on the task at hand. Her calm was short-lived, though, as the first thing Medico Sanzio tried to do was dislodge Angel from his perch at Annie's side. This time the discussion was brought to an immediate halt when Angel directed a dangerous glare at the frail doctor making it clear that he had no qualms about squashing the tiny man to a mushy pulp if the situation called for it.

The Doc relented, realizing he was outgunned, and also outvoted as the patient in question made her wishes plainly known by tugging fiercely on Angel's arm, drawing him down within whispering distance as another ferocious contraction began to take hold of her. She squeezed Angel's hand so hard that he felt his bones grinding together, and let out a shriek to make even Marie Laveau flee in terror. Tears streamed unbidden down her cheeks as at last the dam broke within her in a seemingly endless torrent of blood and other less appetizing secretions. Previous disputes were forgotten as the medical personnel were spurred to action, their demeanors strictly business. The sudden deluge of various bodily fluids from Annie's womb carried with it a scent which assaulted Angel's nostrils, driving him to full vamp mode.

In the bedlam, and his concern for Annie, Angel barely noticed his transformation, and was powerless stop it. His bloodlust had nearly taken full control of him and nothing less than a hearty meal or Zen-like concentration would rein in its effects; at the moment he had neither. Fortunately all eyes were focused south of the equator, and with his back to the action, only Annie bore witness to his true face. She gripped him roughly about the collar and pulled him towards her until their foreheads touched, further reducing the risk of his identity being revealed. Through clenched teeth, and between labored breaths, she spoke in a hoarse whisper only he could hear.

"_Stay with me," I said. "You've held out this long. You just gotta hold on a little while longer, and it'll all be over. Just hang in there, okay?"_

The irony of Annie saying those words to Angel was not lost on either of them, and they shared the first laugh they'd had in what seemed like a lifetime. Their mirth was short-lived, however, as something tore deep within her. Her entire body exploded with indescribable pain that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. An inhuman howl erupted from her lips that was unlike anything Angel had ever heard, even in all his years of inflicting torture. Her cries all but drowned out the frantic shouts of the medical staff, and Angel barely heard the doctor explain, in response to his frantic demand for information, that the leading twin was leading with her posterior and he was going to attempt to manually turn her around. Unfortunately for Annie the treatment was almost worse than the malady, and she was rapidly losing her will to carry on.

Now it was Angel's turn give the pep-talk, as Annie begged him to finish her off and let her rest at last. It was time, she told him. She could feel her life slipping away from her with every passing moment, and if they waited much longer it would be too late. The simple act of keeping her head up was already taking more energy than she had, and Angel knew she was right. Even amid the chaos and confusion his ears could not miss the unmistakable sound of Annie's heart beating increasingly faster until it was not so much beating as vibrating, before slowing to a near stop. The time for action was rapidly approaching. There was no more denying it. But Annie's wasn't the only life at stake here, and he feared that ending hers now, would also snuff out the two lives that had yet to begin. Wishing he could keep her alive by his will alone, he pleaded with her, as she had pleaded with him only moments ago, to hold on just a bit longer.

She vowed to try, but it was clear from the breathiness of her tone, and the way her body spasmed, that the choice was not hers to make. He glanced over his shoulder at the scene below, in an effort to discern the potential hazards to his newest grandchildren. He knew nothing of medicine, and had no idea if the twins could complete their journey without their mother's active participation. Of course he had heard of women dying in childbirth, leaving perfectly healthy children behind, but the details of such incidents were a mystery to him. Had they died during labor, and somehow managed to give birth anyway? Or had they simply died immediately after? He had no way of knowing now, and no time to ponder.

He looked back at Annie and saw that their time had run out. She had gone white as a sheet; her lips were cracked and wore a bluish hue. Her body lay motionless against the pillow. Her eyes had lost most of their shine, and didn't seem to focus on anything in particular. But she was not dead, Angel knew. She peered at him through hooded eyelids, and though their eyes never quite made contact, the corners of her mouth turned up into the vaguest hint of a smile and he knew she saw him. She still had a sliver of life left in her, and the triumphant shouts behind him gave him the confidence to do what needed to be done. He chanced one more look back to be sure attention was safely diverted elsewhere, then bent down and planted a ferocious kiss on her forehead, the act carrying more feeling behind it than any words could hope to convey.

Without rising up, he surreptitiously brought his wrist up to his mouth, sinking his fangs briefly into his own flesh, before doing the same to Annie's. Disguising the move as a gesture of comfort, he pressed Annie's wrist to lips and drank deeply for the first time in weeks, offering his own wrist in kind for Annie to follow suit. As their life forces flowed into one another, Angel was painfully aware of the risk they were both taking. He wanted nothing more at that moment, than to lose himself completely in the rich, live-giving elixir he had deprived himself of for so long, but knew he had to remain acutely aware of his surroundings. Any moment, one of the four remaining humans could glance up from their task, and his cover would be blown. He had promised Annie he would defend himself by any means necessary if the situation called for it, and he intended to keep that promise. To do that, he had to pay attention, despite the overwhelming mouthgasm threatening to drag him down into sweet oblivion.

A chorus of cheers erupted behind him as Annie's eyes slipped close and her body shuddered once, then twice, and became still. He released her, finally, slipping effortlessly back to his human guise, and a moment later was treated to the first cries of Annie's first born. The sound was music to Angel's ears after the immense struggle it had taken to reach this point. After the months of fear and uncertainty, particularly over the last few days, relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he found himself overcome with emotion. Had it not been for his anxiety over what was to come, he might have lost his soul on that day, as opposed to the one which occurred hundred years later. Instead, he rode out the wave of conflicting emotions, letting his tears flow freely, as he turned to gaze at his newborn grandchild.

He watched as Assistant #1 gently cleaned the squalling infant, swaddled it in a blanket and brought it over to meet its mother, apparently oblivious to Annie's recent passing. The young woman wasn't completely brainless, though, and realized the truth after only a look. She regarded Angel's tear-streaked face, her eyes filled with compassion, and after relaying the news to her associates, offered her sympathies, saying, "Liam, I'm so sorry."

_**I was completely bowled over. If I'd had any breath, hearing that name would've taken it away. It'd been so long since anyone had called me that, it really threw me for a loop. It just brought up so many memories. Of my past. The things I'd done. I…**_

He trailed off, choked up with the memory of that day. Or maybe it was the lingering aftereffects of his recent encounter with The First. Or that all around him were living (or undead) reminders of his horrific past. Perhaps it was the fact that they had all gathered because of yet another death on his hands, that could easily have been the love of his life. In any case, this time, Angel fought against the maelstrom of emotions threatening to consume him. This was neither the time nor the place for him to seek sympathy (not that Angel's ever been a sympathy-seeker), and it was not likely to be forthcoming if he did. He brought himself under control, then continued his tale.

While Medico Sanzio and Ms. Pryce finished the task of delivering the second child without her mother's help, Assistant #1 let Angel hold the first-born, and he joined the tiny infant in bawling like a baby. Ironically, the actual baby ceased its wailing almost the instant it nestled in Angel's arms. She looked up at him with wide-eyed wonder, and Angel lost whatever emotional control he had left, as he simultaneously mourned the death of his friend, and celebrated the life before him. Soon, the second child made her debut, the arrival aided by momentum and forceps, and Ms. Pryce delivered the straw that broke the camel's back.

_**With Annie… gone… she said somebody had to name them, and since I was the only one who really knew her, it was fitting that it should be me. I really lost it, then. **_[more to Annie than to the rest of his captivated audience]_** You have no idea what that meant to me. There were so many times… I thought it would never happen, that they would never see the light of day. But they did, and just being there was almost too much. **_[feigns a headache to wipe his eyes]_** I never thought I'd get to hold them. But naming them? That was- Thank you. **_[Annie opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand to silence her]_** I know you didn't have a say, but still… It meant a lot. I hope I did okay.**_

As his tears flowed freely, Angel was grateful, for the first time since regaining his soul, that he didn't have the need to breathe, for he was literally choking with emotion on that 16th day of May in 1899. He gazed down at the delicate life cradled in his arms, and couldn't help but recall all the pain and suffering he had previously caused with those very arms. For now, he suppressed those nightmarish thoughts as he met the eyes staring up at him, seeming to peer into his soul. For the first time, he realized those eyes were of two different colors: one blue and one green. His mind filled with images he'd long forgotten, from his own childhood. His grandmother, who had died when he was very small, had had those same eyes. Each one had been striking in its vibrance, making the difference in color even more enthralling. He had few memories of his mother's mother, but the ones he had gave him nothing but warm feelings. Hence, Annie's first born was named for her, Morrigan Quinn Kalderash.

Reluctantly, he passed Morrigan back to Assistant #1, and held out his arms for her sister. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, like her mother's. He knew Annie didn't want the child named after are. She thought parents that named their children after themselves were either lazy, or narcissistic. He tried to remember if Annie had mentioned any name she had particularly liked, or if there were any person she thought worthy to carry her daughter's name. The little girl blinked at him, and like her sister, so much wisdom seemed to hide behind her emerald eyes. The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. The Shuv'ani, the elder woman who had cursed him. Her name, Annie had told him, was Ileana, and meant "Trojan", making him think of the Greek Warriors of ancient mythology. If he remembered correctly, her title meant "wise one". It was perfect, Angel thought, and so the youngest child became Ileana Shuvani Kalderash.


	23. Awakenings

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Awakenings**

**Saying Goodbye**

The twin newborns having been successfully delivered, cleaned and named, Angel asked for a few moments alone to say goodbye before Ms. Pryce took them to wherever it was she was taking them. She graciously agreed, and he spent the next half an hour or so holding the tiny versions of their mother, speaking to them as if they could understand. They looked up at him as if they could, from the crooks of his elbows. The following letter, written to them in the Family Diary, is a close approximation of what he said.

_**16**__**th**__** May, 1899**_

_**Dearest Morrigan and Ileana,**_

_**I hope this book one day finds you and finds you well. There is so much that I want to tell you. And so much more that I don't. But I promised your mother, and so I will. But first, I want to explain a few things, so that maybe you'll understand. First of all, about your mother, I never wanted to hurt her. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do. She meant the world to me. She was the only real friend I've ever had. She made me who I am, and if it wasn't for her, well, I don't even wanna think about where I would be right now. A pile of dust somewhere, or God knows what. I've done a lot of horrible things in my time, committed the most unspeakable sins imaginable. And if it wasn't for your mother, I'd still be doing them. And far worse. I would've given anything not to have to do what I did to her, and I tried to put it off as long as I could. But time ran out, and I couldn't wait any longer. And she made me promise. She wasn't ready to die, yet, and I didn't want to lose her, though I know I probably have anyway. I hope to God that's not true. I hope I haven't unleashed something horrible on the world, like what I used to be. Or perhaps still am. I know he's still in there, somewhere, commanding me, fighting to get out. I pray that doesn't happen, that I have the strength to fight him. And I hope one day you can forgive me. Maybe not for all of it, or even most of it. I don't see how you could. There's no way I'll ever be able to forgive myself for what I've done. But I hope you can find it in yourselves to forgive me for your mother. That's all I ask. I hope we'll meet again one day, and I'll have the chance to tell you in person how truly sorry I am for everything.**_

_**Love Always,**_

_**Angel**_

Having said his farewells, Angel reluctantly surrendered the two little girls to Ms. Pryce and her two young companions. Medico Sanzio offered to have Annie's body disposed of, but Angel declined, stating it had been Annie's wish for Angel to take her back home himself. The was a brief moment when Angel was sure no one was buying his story, but then the doctor nodded and departed, offering the usual, "Sorry for your loss." Ms. Pryce assured him that while the current destination of the twins was unknown, every effort would be made to ensure their safety and happiness according to Annie's wishes. They were to be placed in the care of either a Slayer, or a Watcher, but more research was required before a decision could be made in that regard. The current Slayer was stationed in China, and with the turmoil there, it was agreed that sending the twins there would be unwise. Information on their whereabouts, once it became known, in addition to their well-being, would be made available to "Liam" should he request it in the future. Satisfied the girls would be in good hands, he kissed each of them one last time on the forehead, and the Watcher's Council representatives took their leave as well.

**Back to Reality**

Alone at last, Angel turned and surveyed the scene before him. He had to remind himself he was looking at the scene of a birth, and not the remnants of one of Angelus' rampages. The memories of his past, previously held at bay by Annie's support, and seeing to her care, suddenly came rushing back to him in a flood, and he collapsed against the door, overcome with guilt and self-pity. It was the first time he could remember being truly alone, not only as a vampire, but in his entire existence. The realization hit him like a freight train, and for a few moments, he could do nothing but curl himself into a ball and mourn his lot in life.

He didn't know how long he stayed that way (a few minutes? An hour? Two?) before finally scolding himself for being such a pathetic Nancy-Boy, as Spike would say, and heaving himself off the floor to take care of business. He moved sullenly to where Annie lay on the bed, memories raining down on him like, well, rain, and for a time, he could only stare at her still form, unable to bring himself to touch what remained of his first real friend. He knew that when he did, he would find her as cold and hard as one of Michelangelo's sculptures, nothing remaining of the woman he had known and cherished over the past several months. If he just studied her face, he could almost deny the truth of the matter, and convince himself she was merely resting. Once he laid hands on her, he knew the illusion would be shattered. It was a reality he was not quite ready to face.

Alas, his traitorous eyes would not allow him to live in denial for long, as they drifted from her face to take in her long dark hair, still matted to her skull and damp from sweat. From there, it was impossible to ignore the rest of the scene. Her nightgown was soaked through, nearly transparent, and he was reminded of when they'd met, watching her change carelessly in front of him while he'd been tied to a chair. He was once more awash with guilt and remorse, recalling how he had wanted her then. It hardly seemed appropriate to have these thoughts now, staring at her lifeless corpse coated with blood and various other bodily secretions associated with childbirth. He closed his eyes against the horror before him, willing more pleasant images to spring to mind, but the vision of Annie her current state seemed permanently branded to the inside of his eyelids, just as he had branded his victims in previous years.

Forcing the memories of his past misdeeds from his head (somewhat unsuccessfully), he opened his eyes, and focused on her face, the only piece of her that didn't bear evidence of her passing. But even this triggered flashbacks of his violent history, specifically, Christiana and what he had done to her. She hadn't looked much different when he'd finished with her than Annie did now, bites and bruises notwithstanding. He tried to remind himself that what had happened then, was not what had happened this time. Annie had not been raped and tortured, defiled and desecrated. She was not the victim of various and repeated attacks on her person by a depraved savage. Any scars she bore were battle wounds received defending her people, not the result of being held captive by a serial killer with a love for degradation. Well, apart from the occasional faint blade or tooth mark, caused by Annie's own acts of kindness toward Angel. But he had not been the cause of her suffering this time; Mother Nature had been the culprit. Angel had only given her release. He kept this last thought in mind, as his soul continued to torment him with visions of Angelus' crimes. He knew he was powerless against the memories threatening to overtake him, so he held the truth of the current situation as a shield against them, so he could do what needed to be done. There would be time for wallowing later. Right now, he had more important things to contend with. He gently lifted her hand, her wrist still bearing the evidence of her true cause of death, and kissed it lightly before setting it down to rest beside her on the mattress.

Knowing he needed to remove her blood-soaked nightgown, he reached up to grip the neckline, intending to rip it off, but the act was too reminiscent of that which he was trying to forget, so he let go and turned away from her, moving to the satchel she always kept at the ready by the door. He reached in, searching for some tool he could use to remove the dress, and instead came out with a cross. He dropped it immediately as his hand flared with white hot pain. He took a few seconds to recover, then reached for it again. The pain gave him focus, he realized, wiping out everything else vying to destroy his mind. He forced himself to keep hold of the smooth shaft of wood, as his flesh singed and burned, the scent assaulting his nostrils like that horse he and Annie had shared so long ago. As the pain washed over him, enveloping him like a blanket, he noted for the first time, that the cross had been chiseled to a point, like a stake. It would be so easy, a distant voice inside him whispered, to turn it around and end all his misery with one quick thrust. But that was a coward's way out. And while he may have deserved to die, he didn't deserve such an easy escape. He deserved a punishment greater than even Hell could devise for him, and he owed it to Annie, to all of them, to carry on and face the sentence fate had in store for him.

He carefully pried the cross-stake from the newly molten flesh of his hand, and set it down, scorching his other hand in the process. Taking a moment to shake off the pain, he moved back to the satchel and dumped the remaining contents onto the floor, not wanting to repeat his mistake as he resumed his search for a cutting tool. As he cautiously rummaged through hodgepodge collection of mundane and specialty items, a small glass orb caught his eye as it rolled away under the table. For an instant, it almost seemed to glow, but Angel dismissed it as a trick of the light, making a mental note to examine it later, and turned his attention back to the pile. He finally found Annie's favorite dagger, the one she had used the first night she had fed him, back at the gypsy camp. He'd used himself, the night they'd feasted on fire-roasted horse. It only seemed fitting to use it now, to disrobe Annie's corpse.

Knife in hand, he made his way back to the bed and threw off the remaining bedclothes. The scent of her blood, still moist beneath the covers, and suddenly exposed to air, hit him with such force that it nearly knocked him off his feet. He barely noticed as his fangs ran out, and he morphed into his demon face. While it was true, he had fed recently, it hadn't been nearly enough to make up for all his missed meals. Most of her blood was still right there in front of him, soaked into the linens and mattress. He tried to ignore the voice inside whispering at him to do the unthinkable, but her nightgown had shifted upward during the birth, and barely covered her. He could see the blood, still tacky, coating the inside of her thighs. It wasn't quite fresh, it was fresh enough. And there was probably plenty more where that came from. It wasn't like she needed it anymore. It was just there, wasting away, so close. He could almost taste it. Leaving it almost seemed like a crime.

But no. This was Angel. And Angel would not lower himself to such depths, if you'll pardon the expression. He shut his eyes, as if that would block the scent, and attempted to pull himself together. When he opened them, he quickly grasped the hem of Annie's nightgown (he may or may not have accidentally touched her in the process), and in one fluid motion, pulled it taut, drove the knife upward through the fabric, and drew it toward him as if he were flaying a fish. Without giving himself time to think, he gripped each side of the foot-long slit, and pulled them apart, tearing the cotton the rest of the way up to the collar. He kept his eyes focused on what he was doing, rather than what he was doing it to, as he used the knife first to split the neckline, then to open each of the sleeves. She was now not so much wearing the nightgown, as lying on top of it.

**Cleaning Up**

Still working on autopilot, refusing to let himself acknowledge what he was doing, for fear of The Voice reasserting itself, he scooped Annie up as if she were a bundle of laundry, letting her nightgown fall where it may, and carried into the bathroom to lie in the claw-foot bathtub. He turned away from her to head back to the bed, telling himself that it didn't matter if he left her that way, as she was dead and wouldn't know, and no one was around to see, anyway. He picked the torn and bloodied nightgown off the floor on his way to the bed, then stripped the bedding and bundled it up with the nightgown and carried the whole mess to the door. On his way out, he picked up a kerosene lamp and its accompanying matches, and took both with him as he exited the room.

No one paid him any mind as he carried the soiled linens around to an isolated area behind the hotel. By this time, most everyone had heard about Annie, so the sight of her companion disposing of bloody sheets in the night seemed perfectly rational. Finding a suitable location, he unloaded his burden, doused it with the kerosene and lit the match. He watched it burn down to nothing, as though in a trance, his mind a complete blank. When it was finished, he stamped out the remaining embers, his motions almost robotic, then made his way back to the hotel lobby. Sofia was running the desk, and offered her condolences before going to a closet to retrieve fresh bedding and towels. As he thanked her and turned to leave, he was barely aware of the dim part of his mind that appreciated how nice she looked in her dress.

Back at the room, he set the clean linens down on the table, and as he started to make the bed, noticed for the first time the prominent bloodstain on the mattress. Letting out a sigh of frustration, he jerked the mattress off the frame, flipped it over, and manhandled it back into place as he had often manhandled some of victims. He ignored the rapidly cycling flashbacks as he proceeded to make the bed, tight as a drum, just the way she liked it, then took the towels into the bathroom to tend to Annie in the tub. He ran the water, unconcerned with the temperature, then removed his shirt so that it wouldn't get wet. It didn't even occur to him that as it was already stained with Annie's blood, a little bit of water wouldn't matter. As he began washing off the blood and various other body fluids marring her beauty, he couldn't help but recall the night she had performed similar actions on him. She hadn't been nearly as gentle as he was now.

Satisfied of her cleanliness, he dried her off thoroughly, cradling her against his chest as if she were a small child, even toweling her hair until it was no longer dripping and barely damp. He carried her back to the bedroom, laid her carefully on the bed, then rummaged through her clothes until he found a dress that he could slide easily on her without putting too much strain on her joints. He slipped the dress over shoulders, smoothed it down over her legs, then drew her against him once more, so that her head rested on his shoulder while he reached around to work the buttons on the back. He let her down gently, readjusted the dress, then fetched a pair of white stockings given by Signora Baccini, but never worn. With seemingly practiced ease he unrolled each of the stockings over Annie's feet, up the length of her legs until they reached mid-thigh. He retrieved her boots from their perch under the night table, and put those on her as well, lacing them up snugly, but not too tight, finishing each of them with a perfect bow.

He lifted her again, and set her down in the straight-backed chair by the table. Realizing she wasn't going to stay in that position on her own, he held her there with one hand while he reached for the rope lying among Annie's belongings strewn about the floor. He tied her securely to the chair so she wouldn't slip, then brushed her hair to a tangle-free shine, separating it down the middle, and finally weaving it into two identical braids running down each side of her head, the tips coming to rest just beyond her shoulders.

_**I don't know why I did that. She never wore pigtails. Not once. It just seemed right for some reason. **_[shrugs] _**I wasn't really in my right mind, I guess. I didn't realize till later that it was how Sofia had looked.**_

Satisfied at last with his life-sized doll, Angel untied Annie from the chair and laid her softly on the bed. He arranged her braids just so along her shoulders, carefully smoothed her dress until it was unrumpled and wrinkle-free, and clasped her hands across her abdomen in a classic death pose. Briefly he wondered if he should leave her tied up, just in case, but thought better of it. He would be there when she woke, to stop her from doing anything crazy, and he feared the wrath he would incur when she found herself in such a position. He turned away from her then, and started picking up the mess he had made of Annie's belonging. As he loaded the items one by one back into Annie's satchel, he was once again drawn to the strange orb that had caught his attention earlier. As he reached under the table to retrieve it, it glowed a bright white-orange, and almost seemed to pulsate in his hand.

_**Of course, I didn't know what it was at the time. But I knew I didn't like it. There was just something about it that made me… It felt like I was being pulled somehow. Right here. **_[touches the base of his breastbone] _**I felt sick. I wanted to destroy it or… just get rid of it somehow.**_

But it was not his to destroy, and Annie would probably have his hide, so he quickly "got rid of it" by stashing it in the bottom of Annie's satchel, and piling the rest of her belongings on top of it. He kept the knife out for reasons unknown even to him. He gathered up her clothes and stuffed as many of them as would fit into the seemingly bottomless satchel, and returned it to its home by the door. Then he went into the bathroom and completed his own hygiene regimen. He finished by using the shaving kit Annie had given him to remove the stubble from his face that was well on its way full-fledged beard-dom, while staring at the blank wall behind him where his reflection would have been.

He exited the bathroom with minimal facial damage, and at last sat down to write his confessions, as Annie had requested of him before she'd died. He wrote until his brain was fried, both of his hands had cramped up, and his eyes were swollen and bloodshot, his face chapped from the river of tears he had cried over reliving his own depravity. Mentally exhausted and broken-hearted, he closed The Book, and laid down beside Annie on the bed, one arm slung casually across her chest, his hand gently cupping her shoulder. The stress of the past few days (weeks?) quickly caught up with him and he was out cold within minutes.

**The Girl in Question**

Annie awoke a few hours before dawn and at first, could not even remember who she was, let alone where she was or what had happened to her. The first thing she became aware of was the dead weight laying across her chest, pinning her to the bed. As she looked down to see what was holding her, she became aware of a second thing. While it was pitch black in the room, she could see everything as plain as day. She explained this to me privately, after Kestryl's party had gotten underway and most of the awkwardness had dissipated due to large amounts of alcohol and Hannah's "special" brownies.

_I mean, I knew it was dark, or at least it _should_ have been dark. The windows were blacked out, and there was no other light source anywhere in the room. But I could see _everything. Like it was bathed in moonlight. But there was no moon. At least none that I could see. But everything was so clear!_ I could even make out the pattern in the curtains. In full color! I take it for granted now, but back then, it was the most amazing thing I ever saw. It took my breath away! _[snorts]

Describing her first impressions of becoming a vampire, she told me she still was not quite sure of what was going on, as she glanced down at the arm across her chest. Her first instinct was to throw it off her like a bit rotten garbage, but for whatever reason, she denied the impulse, as if some unknown force was advising her otherwise. Her eyes followed the length of the arm, from the perfectly manicured fingertips, up to the shoulder, and finally landed on Angel's sleeping face. The image of her Sire, resting peacefully beside her brought it all back. Suddenly, she remembered who she was, where she was, what happened to her, and most importantly, why. As she told her story, her eyes were wide and shiny and she was grinning like a nun who'd seen Jesus. Or perhaps like she'd ingested way too many controlled stimulants.

_And I remember thinking- and this is weird because I never thought about him that way before or since—but I thought he just looked so cute layin' there. I mean, have you ever watched him when he's just layin' there sleepin', all peaceful like?_

Kes and I looked at each other, and then at Buffy (not sure where Angel was while we were all loitering in the kitchen), and neither of us could remember ever seeing him the way she described. We'd all seen him sleep, of course, in one context or another, but it certainly wasn't anything akin to what you'd call "peaceful". Mostly, he reminded me of a sleeping animal. There was a lot of twitching and wincing, accompanied by some occasional whining and growling. He never really seemed completely at rest.

_Just me? Huh. Anyway, maybe it's a fledge thing _[looks to Kes for confirmation, but realizes she's a bad example]_, but I just really wanted to do something nice for him. Get him a present or something. Y'know? Oh, don't get me wrong. I wanted to eat, too. Seriously? I'd never been so hungry my entire life! I'm not even kidding! I coulda bit my own arm off, I was so hungry. But, y'know, I figured if I was gonna live forever, food could wait a little bit. And who knows? Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone._

Slowly, so as not to jostle her sleeping Sire and awaken him, she carefully lifted Angel's arm off of her, shimmied out from under it and gently laid it back on the bed. It was only after she rose to her feet and stretched, that she realized how Angel had dressed her up. She glanced down at the dress she hadn't worn in months (and never much cared for), and the stockings she'd never bothered to unroll (she preferred to feel the breeze on her bare legs), and crinkled her nose in disgust. As she shook her head wryly at Angel's conservative choice in clothing, she finally noticed the braids dangling from the side of her head.

_I NEVER wore braids. I hated them. It always felt like my head was being weighted down or something. Even when I was little, and my mom tried to put me in them, I always ripped them out the second she was out of sight. And Angel should've known that. The fact that he didn't, or didn't seem to, or disregarded it, really kinda pissed me off. Almost ruined the whole "I think I'll do something nice for him" idea._

Irritated, she quickly unwound the braids, combing them out with her fingers. She shook her head, tossing her hair about with her hands until she was satisfied that all her locks hung free once more. Eager to get outside, she ignored the rest of the costume Angel had dressed her in, grabbed her cloak off the chair where it had lain the past several weeks, and fled into the warm Spring night. Without knowing precisely where she was going, she walked unhurriedly (but not particularly slow, either), mesmerized by all the new sights and sounds (and smells) assaulting her senses. Before she knew it, she found herself in the hotel lobby, staring across the room at Sofia, who was still minding the front desk.

As Annie continued her tale, we left the kitchen to rejoin the party, which was in full swing. My Aunt Trudi, and some of the others had redecorated for the festivities. It now more closely resembled a nightclub, rather than the cold empty mansion it usually was. A glorious fire was roaring in the fireplace, and congregated in front of it were Angel and the handful of my ancestors who didn't hate him (most of whom, you've yet to meet). They all seemed to be having a great time, possibly reliving happier days. Angel held some kind of drink in his hand and was laughing like few of us have ever seen. I briefly wondered if perhaps he was _too_ happy. In fact, all throughout the expansive room, most everyone appeared to be acting slightly out of character. Vampires and humans were getting along swimmingly, with none of the awkwardness you would expect from such a gathering. Spike and Dru, who had agreed to call truce for the gala, were entertaining Oz and Willow with some story or another, and Dru's childlike laugh could be clearly heard through the din. Willow seemed to be completely enthralled with whatever tale was being told, and reacted not a bit, when Dru would occasionally place an amiable hand on her arm, or her shoulder as she spoke. In another corner, Giles was making conversation with Audra, Lex, and Colleen, while Xander's attention was held nearby by Moira, Brigid and Cara. In yet another section, Faith spoke quite animatedly with Mary, Ileana and Simone (Ileana's daughter, once a Slayer, herself), probably about some Slayer-related topic. There were so many in attendance, it was hard to keep track of everybody. Some, I assumed were in the basement with the "catering staff" and it wasn't until later that I learned there was more happening downstairs than just dinner. But that's a story for another time.

With so much going on (and I wasn't exactly sober), it was hard to focus on what Annie was saying, but fortunately, I recorded it all so that I could share it with you, now. Annie walked backwards in front of Kestryl, Buffy and I, her eyes lit up like Christmas trees, grinning from ear to ear. As she continued her story, she moved deftly through the crowd without even looking, until we were standing near, but somewhat removed from Angel and his mini-gathering.

_I about died when I saw her… Again. She was dressed almost exactly like me! And her hair? Braided. It was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing. And I'd bet you dimes to donuts _this_ one _[indicates Angel] _had no idea he trying to turn me into her. But of course, it was so _obvious_! I knew the second I looked at her. And I think I must've guffawed a little before I caught myself because she looked up. And, _Oh My God_, the look on her face was _priceless_! Her eyes got as big around as quarters! _[cups her hands in front of her eyes as if she were holding oranges]_ She looked like she'd seen a ghost! And I could smell the fear wafting off of her like… well, there really is no human-life equivalent. Just imagine your favoritest thing ever, then crank the potency factor up to like ten, and that's pretty damn close to what it's like. Of course, I'd never smelled fear before, but I knew it anyway. And I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into it. I did, though. Wait, I mean. I had a plan brewin'._

_So I tried to make myself look just as panicked as she did, and I ran up to her and before I could say anything she says –in Italian of course- "They said you were dead!" And I acted all confused and said, "What? No, I'm fine. But Angel- H-he won't wake up. And he's so _cold_!" And then I grabbed her by the shoulders, like this._

She demonstrated by grabbing Buffy about the shoulders so suddenly that Buffy just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, not sure how to react, or even if she should react at all. I slid to the left so that I was somewhat between Buffy and Annie, and could read both their expressions clearly. A subtle shake of my head told Buffy to remain calm and go with the flow, for now. I was fairly certain Annie didn't mean any harm, and there wasn't much Buffy could do if she did. The Slayer was outnumbered here, and Annie had magick on her side. Any aggression on Buffy's part would just result in unnecessary escalation that even I would be ill equipped to deal with. I remained on the alert, however, ready to jump in if it seemed warranted. Thus far, I didn't think it did. Angel, on the other hand, apparently thought some closer observation might be needed. He wasted no time leaving his cloister of old friends to saunter over to stand across from me, to Buffy's right and Annie's left. He said nothing, appearing relaxed and unconcerned, but I could tell he was ready to pounce if necessary. I repeated my headshake for his benefit. _"Don't get involved,"_ I silently told him. If there was to be a fight here, he wouldn't be the one to win it. _"Let me handle it,"_ I insisted. Annie continued.

_And I said, "Oh God! What if something's happened? If he thought- What if he took something? Or- Come on! We have to hurry!"_

She tugged slightly on Buffy's arm, as she probably did with Sofia back in Italy, then released her and stepped back as she went on.

_And I don't know what she thought she could do, but she didn't even hesitate. She practically flew around the desk without a second thought, and I grabbed her hand and practically dragged her back to the room, like I really did think something had happened. We got to the door, and my fingers barely grazed the handle before it was yanked out of my hand. And there's Angel _[points]_, looking just as freaked out as I was pretending to be. And before he could get two words out, I throw myself at him and I'm like, in Italian for Sofia's benefit, "_[overly dramatic] _Thank goodness you're okay! I was so worried when you wouldn't wake up! And you were so _cold_!" [grins] I totally played it up, too! With the waterworks and the whole nine yards, really laying it on thick, giving it my all._

Somehow, I didn't think she was very convincing with that Cheshire Cat grin plastered across her face. I assumed that probably wasn't the case back in 1899, so I kept my observations to myself and let her continue without interruption.

_Then I grabbed Sofia's arm like this _[reaches over to grab Buffy's upper right arm to demonstrate]_ and I said, "Sofia was worried, too. She rushed right over to help." And then I kinda snuck behind her and closed the door, so she was in front of me, like so?_

Again, she used Buffy as a stand-in for Sofia, and it was becoming clear that her narration was rapidly becoming a re-enactment. Annie had positioned herself so that she was now behind Buffy, pinning her upper arms to her sides, rendering her immobile. I was now looking at her back as she faced Angel. Kestryl at some point had moved to join her sire, and stood just to Angel's right. By now, Annie had begun to draw an audience as the other guests started to cease their conversations and drift over to witness Annie's performance. I couldn't help but wonder if this new development would prove to be a positive or a negative. I could hear the alarm bells going off in both Angel's and Buffy's minds, and was unsure how long I should let the role-playing continue before I intervened. I looked around to my ancestors for guidance. Their facial expressions, and the way they gently restrained my fellow humans from getting involved, told me I should remain alert, but delay taking any action.

I moved to where Annie had previously stood, to obtain a better view, and silently advised Buffy that she was safe and should remain calm. I tried to communicate the same thought to Angel, but he was in full protector mode. Though I couldn't quite read his exact thoughts, I could feel the panic and confusion wafting off of him like heat waves. Conflicting images of present day Sunnydale and turn of the century Italy projected themselves from his mind to mine like pictures on a screen. Angel, too, seemed to be reliving past events and I wondered if the now empty mystery drink in his hand had something to do with it. He became an active participant in Annie's re-creation, though it was unclear, at times, whether he was under the influence of spell or drug, or acting of his own free will in an attempt to diffuse the situation. As he recited the very lines he had spoken all those years ago, I could hear the words he meant to say, dimly in the background. It was one of those situations where you really had to be there to truly appreciate the unfolding drama. But since I don't have the means to actually take you there, writing it for you as a script seems like the next best thing. I've included the hidden dialogue that only some of us had the privilege of hearing, in _italics._

**Annie V. Angel Re-enactment**

Annie maintains a tight grip on Buffy's shoulders, holding her tight against her body. She leans forward so that her face is even with Buffy's, her chin nearly resting on the Slayer's shoulder, as she taunts Angel.

**Annie: **(still grinning maniacally) Remember what ya said? Do ya?

Angel closes his eyes briefly, and I can hear his mind whirring like the buzz of high voltage wires. Images of the past are projected over images of the present, as they continually morph into and trade places with one another. As he reluctantly begins to play his part, I can sense that he is no more sure than I, of who he is protecting, Buffy or Sofia. His internal struggle is plain, as his muscles tense up ready for action, while his mind tells him simultaneously to go forward, and to hang back. He subtly catches my eye, asking me what he should do. Should he play Annie's game, or should he resist, either physically, mentally, or diplomatically? Either option could potentially end badly. Angel is hardly in his best condition, physically or mentally, to go toe-to-toe with Annie, or anyone else for that matter. Considering half of those gathered hated him, and half of _those_ could do magic, this isn't exactly the most opportune time to show dissent. Of any kind. Annie already seems to be skating on the edge, herself. There's no telling how she might react to being defied. Though I have concerns for his mental state if he fulfills his role, I see no other option. A minute nod of my head, and an instant of eye contact encourage him to obey. I will just have to be extra alert in case of calamity. He makes one last ditch effort to cancel the performance as he responds to Annie's query.

**Angel: **I remember. _Annie, what are doing?_

Annie either doesn't hear, or chooses to ignore Angel's hidden question. She merely nods, that joker-esque smile still glued to her face, as she urges him to continue.

**Angel: **(reluctantly, eyes darting from Buffy to Annie as he speaks) I said, "I appreciate your concern, but as you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

He smiles slightly, and again it's unclear whether it is meant to comfort Sofia or Buffy.

**Angel: **"So you should probably get back." _Please don't hurt her._

The smile never touches his eyes, which instead are filled with pain. Annie seems to revel in his discomfort, and her own smile grows even larger (if such a thing is possible), her eyes gleaming with sadistic glee, as Angel continues to narrate his side of the story.

**Angel: **(mostly focused on Buffy) I asked Annie why Sofia was really there. I knew it wasn't really because she was worried. Well, Sofia might have been worried, but Annie knew better. I switched to English because I didn't want to scare Sofia. I knew she'd be as good as dead if she realized something was wrong. We couldn't leave any witnesses that we weren't what we said we were. So I thought if… if I went along with Annie's charade, if Sofia didn't have any reason to question it, then I might be able to reason with Annie somehow and still save her. But… (shakes his head, addressing Annie) You wouldn't hear of it. You went right back to Italian.

Annie begins to realize her audience has grown, and raises her voice slightly to include them in the dialogue.

**Annie: **Of course I did! What would be the point if she couldn't understand? I brought her for you, silly.

As she says the last part her inflection and behavior make it difficult to decide whether she's talking to the Angel of the past, or of the present. In either context, it makes perfect sense. Likewise, Angel's responses could be directed at either Annie.

**Annie: **I know how much you wanted her. (whispers) All those nasty things you wanted to do her.

As she speaks, Annie maintains a firm grip on Buffy's left shoulder, while using her right hand to grasp a handful of Buffy's hair close to the scalp, not hard considering Buffy's ponytail. Why anyone would wear a ponytail to a vampire party is beyond me. All the other humans are wearing their hair down, though I'm sure it was a subconscious decision. As the Slayer, you'd think Buffy would know better. Perhaps she thought she had something to prove? Annie releases Buffy's shoulder just long enough grab her roughly by her jaw, just at the top of her throat. She makes it clear that one false move on Buffy's part, and the Slayer could snap her own neck. I realize that while it appeared that Buffy had been "[going] with the flow as I'd advised, she had in fact been subtly struggling within Annie's grasp the entire time, her muscles twitching ever so slightly. It only becomes noticeable when Buffy suddenly goes deathly still. Though I can't make out any words, I can hear Buffy screaming at me in my mind, her pleas blatantly clear. I had told her to play along, wait it out, and not fight back. And now she couldn't. So I'd better be prepared to do her fighting for her. Of course I will, if I have to. I don't want the world to end because she's not in it, but I also know that Annie and the others don't either. I have to see where this is going.

A low growl sounds behind me as Trudi gently squeezes my shoulder. Unaware until then that she's even there, I turn, surprised. She has vamped out, and doesn't speak, but subtly uses her eyes to direct my attention to the other vampires in the room. The ones who've assigned themselves to humans are gripping their charges just a little bit tighter. Some are in full vamp face (one or two morphing before my eyes), some instinctively lick their lips, all are shifting uncomfortably. Drusilla's eyes gleam with excitement, as Spike displays that sly, knowing grin he's so well known for. Since the spectacle had begun, they had both been maneuvering themselves closer to the action, and are now situated closer to Buffy and Annie than anyone else, Angel included. I quickly realize that I'm not the only one to sense Buffy's fear. In fact their normal senses likely picked up on it even before my extra senses did, and those with E.S.P. at their disposal probably noticed even sooner.

As I learned for myself later, fear (in others) does something to vampires. Besides the scent given off by the emotion itself (which alone is intoxicating), the chemicals released through the sweat and/or tears emit their own distinct aroma. I imagine it's similar to the way pollen attracts bees. And the sounds of the heart racing in response, and the blood rushing through the veins and arteries like a mighty river are like a homing beacon that's nearly impossible to resist. The younger you are, the greater the temptation, but even seasoned veterans, even souled vampires would have a hard time showing restraint in a mob situation like this. A vampire to human ratio of 3 to 1 (not counting the "staff" downstairs) already made the humans a bit antsy, which in turn made the vampires a bit antsy, and so on. It was a vicious cycle. Add to that some Slayer-fear, and a generous helping of various controlled substances, and you had a recipe for disaster.

Even Angel seems affected by the chemically charged atmosphere. I can see his true face lingering just below the surface, as he struggles to keep it in check. Kestryl is fully vamped-out and puts one hand on Angel's back. I'm not sure if she's seeking, or offering support, and I can't help being concerned. Though we'd suppressed her powers (the way she had suppressed mine when I was Angelus' captive), she is still a vampire, after all. And as a fledging, she has less impulse control than the others. She never much liked Buffy; she saw her as competition. I'm worried she might try to jump into the fray before it even starts. I send a telepathic warning to Buffy to rein in her fear and try to control her heartbeat as Annie had taught me in preparation for the Judge. After a moment, she visibly relaxes, though her Slayer senses remain on high alert. I'm reminded of the time she fought the invisible Marci Ross, as she employs the same kind of focus she used back then. The Family still seems agitated, but content now to just watch, and less inclined to get involved. They relax their hold on the humans, who in turn, also begin to relax, as the play continues.

**Angel: **That's not who I am anymore. I've changed. You know that. _Please don't do this._

**Annie: **_Don't do what? _You expect me to believe that? _Tease you? _This is me, Angel. I know you. You can't fool me. _Tempt you? _We both know what you really want. _Wassa matter? Too much pressure? Can't take the heat?_

Keeping a tight grip on Buffy's hair, Annie releases her jaw and draws a line with her index finger, from the top of Buffy's throat, around to the left, and down to the base of her neck. As her nail travels down the side of Buffy's throat, a slight tear opens, living a thin rivulet of blood in its wake. Buffy winces, but is otherwise calm. Or at least does a good job of faking it. Either her mind is still, or she's finally learning to shield her thoughts as I'd been trying to teach her. I'm reading none of the earlier panic, which I hope means the others aren't sensing any either.

I glance across and catch Drusilla's eye, hoping to gain some insight on what's going to happen. I know it's not apocalyptic, or I would've already seen it, but Dru often saw things I didn't. I know if there is something I need to know, she'll tell me, regardless if involves helping Buffy. She knows as well as I that there are some things that need to happen a certain way, ways in which one shouldn't interfere. Sometimes she knows how they are supposed to go. If she knows, she'll tell me. She's proven that before. But she is just as confused as I, albeit a bit more eager to see it through.

I look to Kestryl and see she is practically vibrating with bloodlust. She, unlike the others, already knows what she's missing. When Buffy had learned what happened to Kestryl, she felt responsible (perhaps she was), and when I drove her home that morning to change, she decided she wanted to help. She felt she owed to her, to both of us. Nobody's supposed to know this, so don't tell. And before you go calling Buffy a hypocrite for coming down on Riley, know this. It doesn't even compare. Buffy's not a bloodslut; she's only ever willingly opened her veins 3 times in total, and only in extraordinary circumstances. Not for Spike, and not for the Immortal. At least not as far as I know, and believe me, I would know. My point is Kestryl had already developed a taste for the Slayer, and wanting more, is barely hanging on by a thread, as she grabs onto the back of Angel's shirt like a lifeline.

Angel, meanwhile, isn't doing so well himself. Turning back, I see that he has fully vamped out. If his heart could beat it would be racing. He tries to maintain eye contact with Buffy, to reassure her, and to remind himself, I think, of who she is. Or who he is. In his mentally and physically weakened state (probably aided along by that mystery drink, or several), however, his eyes are irresistibly drawn to the rich, red fluid leaking out of Buffy's wound. He seems to be losing control as he pitches forward slightly, barely resisting the temptation Annie holds before him. With some effort, he tears his gaze away from Buffy's throat, and shakes his head, eyes pleading with Annie as he struggles to keep his senses.

Annie licks the blood off her finger and leans in close to Buffy, inhaling deeply.

**Annie: **Mmm… So fresh.

She lets her fangs out, and bends her head down as if going for another taste. Though I can practically see the exclamation points shooting out from the Slayer's head, Buffy for her part, appears cool as a cucumber. She remains alert, but her stance is mostly relaxed. She hates being powerless, having to put her fate in the hands of others, but she realizes she has no choice in this case. She doesn't stand a chance against Annie, especially if the others decide to jump in. I've already put myself through hell to keep her safe for the sake of cosmic order, and she knows I won't let anything happen to her, even if it's for selfish reasons. What she doesn't know, is that with Trudi's vice-grip on my shoulder, my hands are effectively tied. If things go sour, there will be little if anything I can do about it. Buffy's on her own. I hope that Annie hasn't really gone as crazy as she seems, but as her fangs dip dangerously close to Buffy's open wound, I have to wonder.

I also have to wonder about Angel, who doesn't quite seem to have his own mind totally together. He neither moves, nor speaks, as he watches Annie lean in to devour is beloved, almost as if he's in a trance. I'm almost positive the points of Annie's fangs actually graze Buffy's skin before he finally speaks up.

**Angel: **_Wait! _Please… _Don't._

I can't help but chuckle inwardly hearing Angel speak (and not speak) those words. Scanning the crowd, I find others silently celebrating as well. Hannah actually bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud, but she can't stop the very loud, triumphant "_HA!_" from sounding off in her mind. Annie grins victoriously as she sharply jerks Buffy away from her, still holding tightly to her hair.

**Annie: **Well that's all you had to say!

Without warning Annie half shoves, half throws Buffy at Angel. The act is so sudden that neither Buffy nor Angel have time to prepare. Angel rushes forward, leaving a scrap of his shirt in Kestryl's surprised grasp, as Buffy flies toward him. The Slayer's feet get tangled up in each other and she trips, falling right into Angel. He just manages to awkwardly catch her right before she hits the ground. He holds her clumsily for a moment, as if frozen in a post-dance dip gone wrong. Adjusting his grip to get a better hold on her, he raises her up and gazes at her longingly. Or, I think so. I suppose it could be concern, but it's hard to tell when he's in vamp mode. Especially when the object of his focus has a thin trail of blood running down her neck. With one hand supporting her back, he uses his other hand to sweep a stray hair off her neck that had stuck itself to Buffy's wound. As he does so, he brushes against the gash himself, causing Buffy to wince and inhale sharply. Angel looks down, brow furrowed, as he studies the cut. He seems to be in another world as he runs his thumb along it, getting more blood on his hands. He smiles at her, but if it's meant to be comforting, it isn't. His facial expression (fangs and brow ridges aside) chills me to the bone, and I sincerely fear for his sanity (and the safety of all). Believe me, it's not a face you want looking at you while you're bleeding.

As Buffy returns Angel's smile with a nervous one of her own, I scan Angel's mind to decide whether Buffy needs to be reassured, or warned. All I get is static, and Jenny's voice, spoken by The First, telling him, "_You will drink her" _over and over, like a cd on endless she's won (what, I don't know), Annie stands tall as she watches him, hands planted firmly on her hips, a satisfied smirk painted on her face. I forego trying to warn Buffy, and scream at Angel instead.

**Row: **_ANGEL! Snap out of it! Stop this!_

I realize The First still has a hold on him, or at least something does, apart from himself. Mere words aren't going to get it done, and it's going to take more juice than what I've got, to break through the fog encasing his mind. I share my concerns with Trudi and we combine our energies to reach out to Angel. I hope it's enough, since I don't want to cause a (bigger) scene by involving the others, who may not be so inclined to help. Though it meant digging up ghosts of my own that I'd much rather leave buried, I scream at Angel as loud as my mind will allow (giving myself a migraine in the process) and merge it with the memories of my time with Angelus. I call it all up to the surface, all the pain, the humiliation, the degradation (and did I mention the pain?) and the sounds of my own screams begging for a release I thought would never come. I relive it all in a matter of seconds and send it all directly to Angel's brain, using every ounce of energy I have, and some of Trudi's, to overpower whatever force or substance was clouding his judgment.

We finally break through, and Angel looks up sharply. He catches my eye as the shared memories pass between us. He reverts to his human face, and his eyes fill with regret for what he had done, and what he'd been about to do. I nod in reassurance, and he turns his attention back to Buffy. He sets her upright, and gently squeezes her shoulders.

**Angel: **(softly)I'm so sorry.

Buffy nods her understanding, and attempts a smile she doesn't feel. Instinctually, Angel moves to check the status of her wound, but thinks better of it, given the circumstances, and drops his hand back to her shoulder.

**Angel:** Are you okay?

**Buffy: **(nods) Yeah. A little freaked, but… okay.

**Angel: **(moves one hand to her back, guiding her) Stay behind me. _You're not the Slayer, here._

Neither Angel, nor Buffy have the gift of telepathy, though they (like most others) can communicate with those who do (i.e. me). I know Angel is counting on me to deliver the message. He has a plan, but I'm not privy to it. Over the years, he's become quite adept at hiding his thoughts when he needs to, and this was definitely one of those times. Since getting through to him in the first place all but wiped me out, even in his weakened state, I can't read him this time. I try to relay his warning to Buffy, but although she nods and obeys, I have no idea if she gets it.

Angel turns his focus to Annie, fire in his eyes, and I thank the gods (not for the first time) that Angel isn't psychokinetic, because then all hell would break loose. He's scary as fuck when he's mad even without any of that. His voice is low and menacing as he addresses my third-great grandmother.

**Angel:** No. We're not going to do this. I know you- the real you, the Annie I know (touches his chest), not whatever this is (points)- wouldn't really want it. She wouldn't allow it.

**Annie:** (smiles, nods) Okay, then.

Annie bows her head and seems to acquiesce. Then, faster than even Angel can react, she advances on Buffy, drawing a knife no one knew she had and slashes at the Slayer's throat with it. Buffy clutches at her throat, and collapses to the floor. Chaos erupts as the humans (myself included) start struggling against their vampire handlers, trying to get to Buffy. Choruses of "Buffy!" and "What did you do?" echoed through the massive hall. Only Angel has the freedom of movement to go to her. Kestryl looks down at Buffy's still form, her face a mixture of shock, awe and confusion. She backs away slowly as Angel, rushes to Buffy's side and kneels down to check on her.

**Angel:** No… Please no. (to Annie) _Not again. _What did you do? Do you hate me that much?

Annie doesn't answer, just keeps smiling that knowing smile of hers. From the corner of my eye, I see Hannah rise from her seat and begin to advance on her estranged father. I think she has something in her hand, but I'm more concerned about Buffy's condition, and don't turn to see what she has. There are faint whisperings in the air coming from some of my ancestors, and as the atmosphere becomes charged with electricity, I realize they are working some kind of spell. I relax thinking they are trying to undo what Annie has foolishly done.

Buffy opens her eyes, removes her hands from her throat, and sits up. There is not a scratch on her, save for the tiny one Annie made with her fingernail, which was already closed. She smiles as Angel helps her up, and looks around at her audience.

**Buffy:** Scene! How'd I do?

Angel is so dumbfounded he can hardly speak. His relief is quickly overshadowed by his rising anger as he comes to realize what really happened.

**Angel: **You're not- She didn't- You're okay?

**Buffy: **She never touched me. I'm fine. (smiles)

**Angel: **(hurt, confused) You played me?

Angel looks around at the congregation, as he begins to realize this was some sort of set-up. Some of his offspring seem to be slowly advancing on him.

**Buffy:** No, I—

**Angel: **(to Buffy) You were in on this?

**Buffy: **What? Angel, no. I- It just seemed like a good idea…

Buffy trails off as Angel staggers away from her. Something is clearly wrong with him, but I'm not yet sure what. He seems to be having some kind internal struggle with himself, and he seems to be losing. The whispering stops and I feel an energy whiz past me toward Angel. Whatever it is hits him and he freezes in his tracks before going dizzy and crumbling to the floor, apparently unconscious.

**The Truth of the Matter**

Angel was indeed set up, but that is a story for another time. We were talking about Sofia, and as you may have guessed, the events in 1899 went a bit differently. About two weeks after the ill-fated Christmas Party (which actually turned out rather well), while waiting for the Witch Hunt to blow over, I sat down with Angel for the rest of the story. Annie slit Sofia's throat wide open and left her for dead. The wound was serious enough to kill the girl, but not instantly.

_**Then she **_[Annie] _**just picked up her bag and left. Made some comment about how thoughtful I was to pack it for her. Then she was gone. I wanted to go after her; I was worried about what else she might do. But Sofia was still alive. She was bleeding pretty bad, but she wasn't quite dead yet. I couldn't just leave her. I didn't really think I could save her, but I tried anyway. Really. I did. But… **_[shakes his head]_** it was no use. There was just too much blood. But I couldn't leave her there to die alone. So I stayed. Held her until…**_

Until she died. For a guy surrounded by death, he sure has a hard a time saying the "D" word. But I digress. Only after Sofia Baccini was no more, did Angel leave in search of Annie. He found her about a quarter of a mile away, loading her bag into the back of a carriage. He didn't question how she had acquired the conveyance; he decided he didn't really want to know, though a part of him already did. She greeted him casually, as if she'd been waiting for him.

_**She just smiled and said, "Took you long enough." Then shut the carriage door and hopped up into the driver's seat like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. And she just sat there waiting like she expected me to follow her after that… **_[crinkles nose in disgust] _**display. What she did… that family was good to us. If it wasn't for them, we never would've made it… I don't know why I should've been shocked, but I was. I guess I thought she would be different, you know because of my soul? **_[sighs, shakes his head]_** But she wasn't. She was just like any of them… still is, I guess. And I couldn't stand seeing her like that. It broke my heart. But I couldn't stand the thought of being alone either. You know, I never really had been since I got my soul back. I didn't think I could do it. **_[stands, paces, takes an unneeded breath] _**So I asked her to bring me with her… **_[meets my eyes]_**… Take my soul back, I mean. Of course, she refused. Said she couldn't. More like wouldn't. I'm pretty sure she could've, if she'd wanted to.**_

It so happened that back then, she _couldn't_. At that time, no one was yet aware of the "perfect happiness" loophole. No one alive, at least. And no one had bothered to share it with Annie. She had to discover it herself through painstaking research. Not that Angel was in any condition to achieve happiness, perfect or otherwise. And I doubt Annie would've been inclined to give it to him if he was. Although, taking back Angel's soul would not have been on her list of priorities, what with the "cosmic order" and all. Even if losing one's soul tends to make one selfish, and not so much caring about the rest of the world, the smart ones realize that if the world ends, so do they. Hence, the "cosmic order" must be maintained. So, no de-ensouling for Angel. Since I had enough on my plate to worry about as it was, without getting worked up over Angel's past indiscretions, and since he seemed to be in confession mode lately, I wondered aloud if he ever missed being soulless, now or in 1899.

_**Miss what? The freedom? Not caring about anybody but myself? Being able to do whatever I want, have whatever I want, and not worry about the consequences? Honestly? Yeah. Sometimes I do. Don't you?**_

Angel is referring to that brief period of time the previous January, before Buffy took out The Judge, when we were both soulless. His was floating around in the ether somewhere, and mine was in a jar in an undisclosed location. More on that later, but suffice to say, antics happened, and good times were had by all (except for Enyos, and the housekeeping staff at his hotel). Was it fun? You bet! Do I regret it? Aside from the Jiminy Cricket I got saddled with as a result (again, more on that later), nope. Not a bit. When it's your time, it's your time. Period. And Enyos' number was definitely up. Might as well make the most of it, I say. But do I miss it? Maybe a little, but it's not worth the drama that comes with it. But since I wasn't there to talk about me, I kept that to myself, and just told him no. That was one bone I wasn't about to throw him.

Distraught, Angel resigned himself to the fact that he would now not only have to live with his own crimes, but with Annie's as well. As her sire, he felt fully responsible for everything she did and would do for the rest of her existence, although he knew he had no control over her whatsoever. Briefly, he wondered if he could just leave. If he couldn't curtail her behavior, he didn't want to be a part of it, either. Could he even make it on his own? He had always been a bit of a loner before, but everything was different now. He thought he needed somebody with him just to hold on to his sanity.

_**But **_[Annie]_** was so different… It was like she couldn't wait to start racking up the numbers. Almost like it was a competition. You know? Like she was trying to one-up me or something. And nothing I said or did was going to matter. I couldn't kill her. I didn't have the strength… Mentally, I mean. And I knew I wouldn't be able to stop her, either. I didn't think I could live with that.**_

As he contemplated his next move, his mind naturally turned to Sofia, lying dead in their former residence. It would not be long before her fate was discovered. With Annie presumed dead, Angel would be the first (and probably only) suspect. Whatever he decided in the future, it wasn't safe for him where he was. Annie looked at him expectantly (and perhaps a bit impatiently) and he knew by her expression that she wasn't going to let him leave without a fight, regardless of what he wanted. He reluctantly reached for the door to the carriage, wanting to be alone with his thoughts, and as far away from Annie as possible. He would reconsider his options once they were safely out of Milan. Annie quickly stayed his hand, advising him that he might be more comfortable up front with her. He didn't need further explanation to realize that the carriage's former owner was "resting peacefully" in the passenger compartment.

And so we see the first of Angel's internal walls go up, as he sullenly hoists himself onto the dickey box (the driver's area), and plunks himself down as far from his former friend as possible. Though Annie tries to engage him in idle chit-chat, Angel would have no part of it. He kept his eyes directed purposely away from her and the two rode in silence until they reached the Ticino River, at which point Annie insisted that Angel dispose of her leftovers into the river.

_**She said it would be good for me. That it would "build character" **_[rolls eyes]_**. I told her if that was true, then I already had enough character for both of us to last a lifetime. Two, even. **_[wry grin] _**She didn't like that too much. We fought… **_[off my look]_** All right, she kicked my ass. But don't tell anyone, okay? It's kind of embarrassing. I mean, I'm **_**her **_**sire. Not the other way around. I'm supposed to be the one in charge, right?**_

Ultimately, Angel did as he was told, not only to avoid another beat-down, but because Annie refused to do it herself. The sun would be up soon, which meant they would both soon have to retreat to the passenger compartment, and Angel didn't fancy bunking with a corpse. Again, he thought about leaving, but given their location, he really had nowhere to go to shield himself from the sun. It was the carriage, or certain death, though the latter was seeming more appealing by the minute. Still, he had promised Annie, the human Annie, that he would go on living at all costs. It was a promise he intended to keep, regardless of the being she had become. So he carefully dragged the body out of the carriage, trying to treat it with as much respect as possible, given the circumstances, weighted it down with whatever he could find, and gently laid it in the river to let the current carry it away.

_**Of course, Annie just had to check the pockets before I let go of him. That was her thing, I discovered. Souvenirs. She always had to take something from each of her kills. In Sofia's case, I guess she really didn't have time. Or maybe the blood on her knife was enough. In this case, it was a pocket watch. Engraved. Probably from a wife. Girlfriend, maybe.**_

**Annie's Games**

According to Angel, this was how they spent most of their remaining time together. They traveled as far as they could at night, sleeping during the day, of course, with Annie taking lives as she encountered them. In the less populated areas, her kills were, by necessity, various wildlife, but in the cities and towns they passed through, she killed indiscriminately. It didn't matter if they young, old, rich, poor, fat, thin, healthy, sick, criminal, or law-abiding citizen. Occasionally, as a matter of course, it would turn out to be someone who really deserved it, but mostly not. Regardless of any of these factors, however, she always made sure that Angel accompanied her.

_**Mostly, I just had to watch. Yes, **_**had**_** to. You wouldn't know it to see her now- she's calmed down quite a bit- but back then, she was vicious… Okay, nowhere near the level I was at… before, I mean. But still… I mean, there's a reason everyone defers to her. And it's not just because of her charismatic personality. **_[slight chuckle]_** I know it sounds cliché, but she really does have ways of getting what she wants. **_**You**_** know. **_**You've**_** seen it. Remember Kestryl's party? She even had Buffy towing the line. Nobody does that. Not her mom, not Giles, not even me. Nobody tells Buffy what to do except Buffy. But Annie had her playing her little game like it was her idea all along. Some kind of mind control or something. Probably got it from Dru's side of the family.**_

_**But anyway, back then, she didn't do that. Back then, she did it the old fashioned way. With violence. Not against me. Though she did beat the crap outta me a couple times. But I didn't care about that. As far as I was concerned, she could do whatever she wanted to me. I deserved it after everything I'd done. But the people she killed… if I didn't do what she wanted, they were the ones that had to suffer. She'd keep them alive as long as she had to, to get what she wanted out of me. If I walked away, or refused to go with her, she'd just bring them back to the carriage, knowing I had to go back there eventually. And believe me, I did consider other options, but there weren't any. Not for me. So of course, I always went back. And when I did, she'd have someone there, and if they weren't dead, they clearly would've preferred it. If they were, it was obvious that they'd suffered. A lot.**_

_**Finally, I just gave up trying to fight her. I knew she wasn't going to stop killing, no matter what I did, and I knew **_**that**_** much was already my fault. But I didn't want to be responsible for how she was doing it. So if she wanted me to watch her do it, then I'd watch, if it meant they died quicker, and relatively painless. And for a little while, that was all she wanted. Why, I'm not really sure… Except that maybe she was trying to kill my spirit… but it was already far too late for that. Soon, though, that wasn't enough.**_

As he spoke, Angel kept his eyes carefully averted from mine, as if he were afraid of what he might see there, or afraid of what I might see. If he happened to glance in my direction, his gaze went to the bridge of my nose, or the middle of my forehead, or just over my shoulder. As he said this last, however, he finally met my eyes directly, and his own were filled with such pain, such sorrow, that despite our shared history, I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay. It wasn't, and I didn't, but I tried to communicate non-verbally that I understood, and that whatever else I might judge him for, I wasn't judging him for this. He collected his thoughts, and continued.

_**She wanted me to feed…**_[holds up a hand to silence my potential comment]_**I know what you're going to say. "Big deal," right? But for me, it was. In those days, I was living completely off of animal blood. Yeah, I know. They **_[the people]_** were already dead. But it was a matter of principle. Funny coming from me, I know, but I did have some, believe it or not. And this wasn't about survival, or taking one life to save another. This was about… **_[shakes his head]_** I'm still not sure, to be honest. You'd have to ask her. But I didn't want any part of what she was doing. And it seemed like every day she was demanding more and more from me. You know, first it was just watching, then feeding from the dead… I knew it was only matter of time before she wanted me to take a more active role in her kills. And I was right.**_

_**When we got on the boat in Genoa, that's when it started to get interesting. I didn't know that she'd already gone ahead of me and… packed a lunch? **_[crinkles his nose distastefully]_** It was a boy. About Xander's age, I guess. Bit younger, maybe. Not really my type… Not that I had- oh nevermind. Anyway, she had him tied up in our "quarters". If you could call it that. Just the place she'd decided we would stay. Also, not really my type.**_

Angel continued to beat around the bush, as he sometimes does when discussing matters he'd really rather not, but finally got around to explaining the gist of Annie's seafaring games, which she carried on the whole way to Syria, and began again when they boarded the passenger ship leaving Yemen. She'd select a victim, sometimes purely for her own enjoyment, others specifically to torment Angel, and occasionally both. She'd imprison them in the cabin she and Angel shared, (or whatever happened to be passing for one), keeping them sufficiently bound and gagged to eliminate any chance of escape or attracting attention, and there they would sit until Angel consented to killing them himself.

Naturally, Angel refused the first time Annie presented the game. That was fine with Annie. She had no problem letting him languish there while she slowly drained his blood little by little. It wasn't a pleasant way to die, or an especially quick one either. But there were far worse ways to die; Angel had invented countless of them himself. If he couldn't save the lad, a little bloodletting wasn't a horrible way to go. In the end it would be just like going to sleep. At least, that's what Angel thought. But Annie wasn't about to let him off that easy.

_**Basically, she waterboarded him. With his own blood. It was a terrible thing to watch. I really didn't wanna have to- I didn't want anything to do with it. But… Look- the kid? He was going to die anyway, one way or another. Annie was making sure of it. But **_[shakes his head]_** not like that. Nobody deserves that. So I gave in. I pushed Annie aside, and I broke his neck.**_

I thought there were far worse ways to die, worse ways to be waterboarded, too (if that's even the correct word), but no one put me out of my misery. I was still walking around (or hobbling around, anyway). Given the ordeal Annie and the others (not to mention the First) had put him through over Christmas, I kept this observation to myself. At this time, I was actually trying to rebuild a friendship with Angel, and put our past in the past. (It's still a work in progress.) But even without words (or telepathy), I think Angel understood the meaning behind my stare. But this wasn't about a bastard-son-of-a-bitch who was guilty of the most depraved acts against humanity imaginable and deserved every kind of conceivable punishment the universe could throw at him. This was about a man, backed into a corner, who did what he thought was right, the only solution he could come up with at the time. I understood that. And let's be honest. I was no angel either (pardon the expression). I was far from innocent, myself.

Our conversation was interrupted courtesy of the melee going down at City Hall and the three distress calls going off in my brain. One of the first things I had taught Buffy and her friends as we became acquainted was how to reach me in an emergency, when Ma Bell just wasn't going to cut it. Essentially, it was like having a direct line into my brain, something Willow learned to do all on her own years later. I had hoped to avoid the whole Hansel and Gretel brouhaha altogether, because witches and witch hunts make horrible bedfellows, but since I had Buffy, Willow, and Xander all screaming at me to the point where I didn't know where my thoughts ended and theirs began, I thought it best to make an appearance, if only to provide moral support.

When all was said and done, and the Amy-Rat was safely in her cage, I returned home to find Annie making herself at home in my living room. I don't know why any of them still had an all access pass to my house, after their Christmas stunt; I hadn't even renewed Angel's invitation. But there she was. She wanted to know if I was prepared for Buffy's birthday the following week. I assured her that yes, I was, and had already made plans to patrol with Kestryl sans Slayer in the days leading up to Buffy's Cruciamentum. It would be just like old times. Then she presented me with the knife she'd killed Sofia with, and had also used to fake-kill Buffy. She thought Buffy might like to have it. Isn't that what every eighteen-year-old girl wants, a knife that was used to commit murder and then held to one's own throat? I took it without comment, though; I wasn't in the mood to fight. Then she asked if there was anything else I'd like to discuss as long as she was "in the neighborhood". As a matter of fact, I told her, there was. I brought her up to speed on what Angel had already told me, and she defended herself thus.

_Don't you believe for second that he didn't enjoy that shit! He loved every blessed minute of it! You weren't there. You didn't see the way his eyes lit up after that first kill. I did. And I am telling you, when he snapped the boy's neck, it was like something clicked in his brain. I could practically hear the "pop". And the next time, and the time after that… he didn't need nearly as much convincing. By the time we finally met up with Darla, he was hunting all on his own again. He was just like his old self. And he's full of it if he told you anything else!_

She waited for a moment after that, to see if I would challenge her claims. I didn't. I just wanted her gone. After she left, I immediately set about rescinding her invitation, also banning any other vampires who currently had access to my home. The next day, I went to see Angel. My primary purpose was simply to renew his invitation. Mostly, it was a giant middle finger to Annie and the others, but it was also my way of extending an olive branch. As I've said, we had been getting along lately, mostly. I tried (and sometimes still have to try) not to blame him for Angelus' crimes. But that barrier at my threshold was like a literal wall between us. It said, "Sure, I'll come to your house and have drinks with you any old time I feel like it, but don't even think about setting foot on my property." It was time to change that.

I found him and Buffy smooching on the couch. They immediately separated upon my arrival, guilty. Angel bounded to his feet and they both started stammering something about it wasn't what I thought, blah, blah, blah. I told them I didn't care. It didn't concern me unless they made it concern me. I quickly extended my invitation, then since I couldn't resist, I confronted him regarding Annie's allegations against him. I switched to Gaelic out of respect for Buffy. I didn't think he'd tell me the truth otherwise.

_**No. Absolutely not. I hated every minute of it. Everything she made me do, every life she made me take just to prevent her doing something worse… It killed me. It was like a piece of me died with every death I caused. Even the ones that probably deserved it… Yes, I could hear the demon rejoicing, getting a little louder each time. But try as I might, just to keep the charade going with Darla, I could never be Him. I couldn't cross that line. **_


	24. Morrigan and Ileana Kalderash

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Morrigan and Ileana Kalderash 1899-1923, '36**

**Giswil, Switzerland**

Morrigan and Ileana arrived with Ms. Pryce at the headquarters of the Watchers' Council in London, only to be immediately sent off with Creighton Faust, who had just been assigned to a Potential Slayer by the name of Mary Doyle in Doncaster, England. Little is known of either of them; most of the records regarding the pair have since gone mysteriously missing. Miss Doyle officially became the Slayer in June, 1900 after the death of Xin Rong in China. In 1903, Mr. Faust "disappeared", the circumstances of which are still unknown. His Slayer apparently took her own life shortly thereafter. Ileana has only a few vague memories of a farm, and remembers virtually nothing of either the Slayer or her Watcher.

The twins were then bounced around between the homes of various Slayers and Watchers, the arrangements always failing for one reason or another. Death of the Watcher, death of the Slayer, or just everyday run-of-the-mill bad luck turned the girls' early years into a twisted game of "Musical Chairs" until they were finally settled with Alfred Gantry in Giswil, Switzerland in 1908. His Slayer, Claudette Simmen became like an older sister to the girls, and was the closest thing they had to a mother for the rest of their childhood. When they weren't busy with some Slayer-related mission both Claudette and "Uncle Alfie", as they called him, took time to train both of them as well as they would any Potential Slayer. When they began to reach the age when the average Slayer was called, they would accompany Claudette on routine patrols. Morrigan had the privilege of slaying her first vampire on Easter Sunday, 1913, the year they turned 14. Ileana remembers the night well.

_We were doing an Easter play with our church. I know it seems weird that we were members of a church, but we were. Mostly we did it to blend. Most everyone in our village went, and the few who didn't were treated like pariah. As you know, a Slayer can't really afford to stand out, so we went. Every Sunday just like everyone else. And if there was some special event, like, say, a play of some sort, we participated just like the rest. Morrigan and I were the "Marys". You know, the ones that found Jesus' empty tomb? Well, nobody knew at the time, but it turned out that the kid who played Jesus had been killed a few nights before. Yep. You guessed it. Vampires. Somehow he had managed to keep this secret from everyone until the night of the play. Even us. And we should've been able to tell. I mean, it was how we were raised. There was really no excuse. I guess you just don't expect a vampire to show up at your church. To rehearse for a play, no less. As Jesus, for heaven's sake! Though, come to think of it, his parents were strangely absent after Good Friday. We'd spent the whole week rehearsing, and his folks were there every single day. Then we had our Friday service and… I don't remember seeing them after that. _[realization hits]_Oh my God! That's probably when they died. In fact, I'll bet they all died together! That's probably how he was able to keep it a secret! Ugh! I'm so stupid! And he did seem a bit off at the Saturday night dress rehearsal. But hey! Kudos to him for pulling it off! He had everybody fooled. Never once blew his cover. _[off my look]_ Sorry. Anyway, the play went off as scheduled, only when we looked in the empty "tomb" he popped out all fangy. And Morrigan, she didn't even think twice. She had a stake stashed in her costume, and when he jumped out and attacked, she dusted him in like two seconds. Of course, we had to leave town after that. I mean, how the hell do you explain _that?

**Soldier Boy**

They ultimately settled in Verdun, France, and for a while it seemed like the perfect fit for the makeshift family. There was just enough demonic activity to warrant the presence of the Slayer, but not so much that the foursome couldn't still live as relatively normal human beings. They purchased a modest cottage just a few miles outside of town, away from the scrutiny of curious town folk, yet near enough to make themselves a part of the community, and avoid speculation about "those strange newcomers down the way". By day, each of the twins took jobs in town. Morrigan, being quite fond of photography, became an apprentice in a portrait studio, while Ileana, who relished the social scene, waited tables at the local café. At night, they continued to patrol with Claudette, and as they grew more confident in their abilities, would sometimes patrol together on their own, thereby covering more ground than the Slayer could alone.

Then World War I happened and all hell broke loose. Merely the mundane aspects of war made it extremely dangerous to venture outside at any time of day, and the otherworldly creatures attracted by it, made it twice as deadly after dark. Around the time of their 16th Birthday, in Summer of 1915, Alfred began restricting their patrols to exclusively alongside Claudette. By fall, as the conflict grew more intense in their northeastern region of France, he explicitly forbade them from either patrolling or venturing out at all after sunset. Neither Morrigan nor Ileana would agree to give up their jobs, however, as long as their employers stayed in business, no matter how much Alfred begged. It was the one point of contention on which they would not budge, and Alfred ultimately had no choice but to agree.

It was no surprise then, that Ileana, being the social butterfly that she was, threw herself wholeheartedly into her work. She worked at the café as much as her employer, Elisa Colella, an Italian-Swiss transplant, and the women's labor laws would let her. She even worked off the books, for free, after the time which the government ruled she had to clock out. She couldn't bear the thought of being cooped up in their tiny cottage any more than they had to be. Neither girl had ever been much of a homebody, Ileana especially She couldn't fathom sitting around the house all day while good men died in the streets for a war they didn't fully understand. Ileana explains.

_And it wasn't just the soldiers, either. Innocent people, women and children too, were being cut down like firewood, without a second glance. I understood why Alfie didn't want us out there slaying. It was a mess out there, and we were good, but we weren't that good. We weren't Slayers. And I knew there was really nothing I could do for the human war either. But what I could do, help keep some semblance of normalcy for the people of Verdun. And Ely felt the same way. She'd lost her husband in Italy's war against the Ottomans a few years before. It was why she came to France in the first place, you know, making a fresh start and all? Anyway keeping her business open, helping people the only way she knew how, was her way of honoring him. So she was more than happy to have me help. _

Morrigan, meanwhile, stayed on at the portrait studio as long as she could, but soon found herself unoccupied when her employer went out of business, sadly, just before Christmas. As with any war, this one was taking a toll on the economy. Most reasonable people stayed in as much as possible, and those that did venture out weren't spending their dwindling finances on portraits. She began helping Elisa and Ileana at café once in a while, but stopped when it started to became primarily a meeting place for the soldiers. She held the war responsible for the studio shutting down, and didn't want to be reminded of it. Alfred hated to see either of his adopted daughters unhappy, so he built Morrigan darkroom, hoping to restore some of the enjoyment she got from working at the studio.

The café, on the other hand, didn't seem to be suffering at all; only their clientele changed. Instead of regular folk headed to or from jobs, or merely out for lunch, it was soldiers and other military personnel, from both sides, either getting a lay of the land, passing information, or just stopping by for something other than standard rations. Ultimately, it became a place for the soldiers to unwind and blow off steam, if only for a little while. Unlike Morrigan, neither Elisa nor Ileana were bothered in the slightest by this, as long as the fighting was left outside. For the most part, this was the case. According to Ileana:

_Most of 'em were only there cuz they had to be, for one reason or another. Not because they believed in "the cause". Hell, half of 'em didn't even really know what the cause was. They came to the café to escape the war, not to bring it with them. Of course, there was bound to be a few assholes that just couldn't leave the war at the door, but they got ejected pretty quick. If not by Ely or me, then by some of the other soldiers._

_And that was how I met _him._ Seamus O'Rourke. _Major _O'Rourke. He was part of the British… Expedition… something or other? _[shrug] _I dunno. It sounded cool. And he was so…. You would've liked him, I think. Tall, muscly… What is it they say nowadays? Buff? Yeah. He was buff. But not too much, y'know? Just enough. He was like a Greek god! Which is weird since he was Irish and English. And he had brown hair, a little lighter than Angel's, with kind of a cowlick that flopped down over his forehead. He was always having to shake it out of his eyes. Oh! And his eyes! You've never seen eyes that blue. They were like… Omigod, I don't even know! Like the Mediterranean or something. Just bluer than blue! And his smile! I could still see it like he was sitting right here! He coulda melted icebergs with it! And talk about charm! You have no idea! He came in almost every day, just to see me! Or you know. When he could. When he wasn't too busy with other stuff. Like, say, _The War! And we'd have coffee and talk, about each other's lives and about the war, and about everything!

**Shattered Dreams**

Ileana went on to say that when Seamus first started coming in, it would sometimes be weeks before she saw him again. Then, when he started coming in more regularly, it was once or twice a week. It wasn't until the last weeks before Christmas, that he began coming in nearly every day. So, when she didn't see him for the first weeks of the New Year, she didn't think much about it. That wasn't only because she wasn't worried (she was), but because she had plenty to keep her busy. In addition to her work at the café, she also had this strange book that had been left for Morrigan and Ileana on their doorstep, when they had awakened Christmas morning. That's right, Dear Reader. It was The Book, the Family Diary.

_It was just before dawn. The sky hadn't quite started lightening yet, but you could tell it wanted to you know? And at the same time, both me and Morrigan woke up sitting straight up, bathed in sweat, and terrified! And for apparently no reason at all! I mean, we knew we'd had a nightmare, but neither one of us could remember what it was. And something, I don't know what, told us to go to the door. And when we opened it, it was there, wrapped in brown paper, with just our names on it. And when we started reading it, I got so wrapped up in it, I barely noticed when Seamus stopped coming in._

_The dreams alone were enough to keep us occupied. After we started reading the book, they started coming more and more often, and they were more vivid, and we could remember them more and more. A lot of them were in the past, there were a lot of guys with powdered wigs and such, and girls with these huge dresses and giant hair. But some stuff was in the present too. Or the near future. I kept dreaming about Germany, and a fifteen year old girl with red hair. I remember being in a room full of cameras and lights, surrounded by vampires. Morrigan said she dreamed about America. There was a city, and a girl with short dark hair, wearing a short, short dress with fringe and sparkles. She had like a feather or something in her hair. A red one. In the back. And bright green eyes, she said. She always said her chest hurt after._

_And of course, we both dreamt about Angel, though we didn't know right away we were dreaming about the same guy. The one she described, and the one I saw seemed totally different. It wasn't until we both had the same dream about when he was in China, that we realized we were both dreaming about Angelus, the same guy in the book. It wasn't until after that, that we finally got around to reading what Annie wrote, and as you know, she didn't write anything after she died. The last entry was Angel's._

On February 5, 1916, the twins once again awoke simultaneously from a nightmare they couldn't quite remember. This time, when they threw open the door, it was the middle of the night. The only light was from the slim crescent moon above, and it took some time for their eyes to adjust. At first, all they could see were shadows, and they heard the faint sounds of footsteps in the distance, running perhaps. After a moment they picked up the distinct sounds of a scuffle, punches being thrown, kicks being landed, someone hitting the ground with a thud. Claudette's voice came to them clearly, accompanied by Alfred's cultured accent, and another slightly less civilized, yet oddly familiar male voice. Not bothering to put on shoes, or even coats, Morrigan and Ileana rushed outside and darted across the cold, damp terrain, towards the struggle. They barely noticed the gashes forming on their feet as they traversed the debris-strewn grasses. They arrived on the scene just in time to see Claudette fall to the ground, dead from broken neck. Standing over her, triumphant, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust, was Seamus, still wearing his uniform.

_At first, I wasn't even sure what I was seeing. It was like everything was in slow motion. Claudette went down, and I just couldn't believe she was dead. She's just unconscious, I thought. Or faking or something. Any minute she was gonna get up and win the fight like she always had. But when I looked at her, and saw how still she was, her eyes all glazed over looking at nothing, I knew it was true. And I was so shocked, I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything but stare. I barely even noticed Alfred on the ground a few feet away. I only saw Seamus. I noticed his uniform first, of course, but I still didn't make the connection. He was in full vamp-face, and I was in denial. It couldn't be Seamus, I thought, it just couldn't. Verdun was swarming with soldiers. It was someone else, it had to be. I just thought it was him, because I hadn't seen him. Y'know, projecting my fear or whatever. Then he switched to his human face, and I couldn't deny it anymore. He looked at me with that same sparkle in his eyes that I loved about him, and same captivating smile he wore every time I saw him. Then he ran off. And I let him. I was just too stunned to do anything else._

_Then I heard Morrigan's voice calling me. It sounded like a dream; I couldn't really hear what she was saying. For a moment, I was convinced it _was_ a dream. I actually tried to wake up. But of course I didn't. Then I went to see what Morrigan was yelling about. She was kneeling down by Alfred. He was unconscious, and pretty banged up, but he was alive. Claudette wasn't so lucky. I didn't even have to check on her to know another Slayer had already been called._

**Separate Ways**

Ileana joined her sister tending to Alfred, and between the two of them, they were able to rouse him enough to get him on his feet. They carefully walked him back to the house across the frozen earth, sat him down in the kitchen with a hot cup of tea, then after dressing more appropriately for the weather, went back to retrieve Claudette. They carried her into the house and laid her on her bed, while they waited for sunrise, when they could give her a semi-proper burial, without fear of being disturbed by more creatures of the night. Once that bit of unpleasant business was taken care of, the three mourners discussed what their next move would be.

First and foremost, The Council had to be notified that a new Slayer had been called. Though their seers were quite gifted at finding Potential and newly called Slayers, they were not infallible. Quite often, a Slayer would be called and then relieved of her duties without ever knowing what she was. To reduce the chances of this happening, The Council had to be kept up to date on the status of the current Slayer. They needed to know for certain if it was time to look more closely at the known Potentials, and if none of them had been Chosen, they needed to intensify their search. In addition, it was important that Alfred and his charges kept in touch with each other. The easiest way to do this would be to go through The Council. As they were still reeling from their recent loss and not yet sure what each was going to do, they wired The Council with only the news of the Slayer's passing, promising further information as it became available.

Morrigan decided she was going to literally follow her dreams to America. She was convinced her dreams were a kind of flight plan she was meant to follow. Alfred wasn't happy about her decision, but understood. They had told him about the dreams they'd been having, how they had felt different than ordinary dreams, as if some unseen force was trying to communicate with them. As a Watcher, he was accustomed to the notion of prophetic dreams, and was familiar with the family history (as much as The Council was familiar, anyway). Had he fully understood, he might have put up more resistance to Morrigan's decision to go to America. Ileana, on the other hand was less agreeable.

_I didn't want her to go just for the simple fact that she had no idea where she was going. America is a big place, you know. Even back then. And she didn't even know what city she was supposed to be going to. Just a city somewhere. And a nightclub. Wow! That's real specific. There aren't many of _those_ in The States(!) But then, I guess had no room to talk. All I had was just a vague notion of Germany. I didn't even know what I was supposed to find there. I thought maybe it was where Seamus was going, and believe me, I was definitely out for blood where he was concerned._

_But Alfred felt it was _his_ duty as Watcher to track down the monster that killed his Slayer. He was sure Seamus would stick close to the war. Not that the war wasn't happening in Germany too, but he thought Seamus would stick close to his own soldiers, and that as a vampire, he'd be drawn to the bloodiest battles. If he was going to find him, he had to follow those battles as well, starting with the ones in France, then moving on when the soldiers did. He thought maybe I was meant to find the next Slayer. That actually made sense to me, since I had dreamt about a girl who was about the right age to be a Slayer. And not about Seamus at all._

Since Morrigan's mind was already made up, and there was no talking her out of it, it was decided that Morrigan would travel to the coast, where she could then board a ship which would ultimately take her to Ellis Island. As Alfred would be following the war, it was deemed too dangerous for Ileana to accompany him on his hunt for Seamus, so she would take his Benz Velo to drive Morrigan to the harbor in Le Havre then go on to Germany. Alfred made sure they each took with them enough money to get started, and Ileana insisted Morrigan take The Book with her across the pond. Ileana reasoned that it primarily seemed to be a chronicling of Angel's life, and since only Morrigan had dreamed of him in present day, it was likely that she'd be the one to run into him. It was perhaps the purpose of her traveling to America. It only made sense that The Book should stay with her.

Before going their separate ways, they sent another wire to The Council stating their intentions, and giving them a rough idea of the path they would take. In case The Council need to communicate with them, they promised to check in at the wire offices as they reached them, and send regular updates of their whereabouts and activities. By the time Morrigan and Ileana checked in at the Paris office, there was already a telegram waiting for them. Carefully worded so that only the twins would understand, The Council informed them that Claudette's replacement had already been identified and assigned a Watcher, who had been training her since before the war. However, he was considered irresponsible and unstable. Since Morrigan was already moving to The States, The Council wanted her to go to Chicago as a liaison between the Slayer and her Watcher, and The Council. If she agreed, all her expenses would be paid for by The Council. Though Morrigan had other plans in mind for when she arrived, she agreed because she needed the money. Also, she thought maybe The Council's offer was Fate's way of telling her where she was supposed to go.

Ileana, on the other hand was requested in London for some more intensive training. The war was hitting The Council just as hard as it hit everywhere else. The number of Watchers and operatives had dwindled significantly, and as Ileana already had some field experience, as well as a background in the academic side of things, they wanted her to train to become a Watcher. She wanted to serve The Council, but felt guilty about Claudette. She held herself responsible for the Slayer's death, having told Seamus who she was. Granted, he had been human at the time, and she had no way of knowing he'd become something else, but she'd had no business telling any outsiders about the Slayer. Claudette might still be alive if Ileana had kept her mouth shut.

_I wanted the training. I knew I still had a lot to learn about fighting, and demonology, and whatever, if I wanted to be any help to anybody. And I did. But I didn't think I wanted to be a Watcher. I'd already lost Claudette, and it was at least partially my fault. I couldn't stand the thought of having the fate another Slayer in my hands. But at the same time, I was finding out about this new gift I apparently had. I knew The Council had the resources to help me develop it, and I'd be a fool not to accept their offer, and at least go train with them. But then again, my dreams had been clearly telling me "Germany". I was so confused. I didn't know what I wanted to do._

After some discussion with Morrigan, she decided she would except The Council's offer to be trained as a Watcher. The current Slayer was already in place, so there was no immediate need to find the next one, assuming she was indeed in Germany as her dreams hinted. In fact, there was nothing in her dreams to even indicate a date. She could have been dreaming of several years in the past, or in the future. Germany could therefore wait, and there was nothing that said she absolutely had to become a Watcher once her training was complete. In the meantime, she could only benefit from anything The Council had to teach her. After replying to The Council that their offer was accepted, Morrigan and Ileana boarded the ship together that would take them to Southampton, England. When they arrived in port, the sisters hugged each other goodbye, and Ileana began making her way to the Watchers' Council in London, while Morrigan continued on to America. It was the last time they would ever see each other.

**Ileana Gantry (née Kalderash)**

**Training Days**

In mid-October, 1917, Ileana was reunited with her adoptive father, slightly worse for the wear, but otherwise well. With him was a man by the name of Friedrich Lichtermann, a motorcycle dispatch messenger with the German army, who according to Alfred, had been instrumental in finally putting Seamus O'Rourke to rest. At the time of their meeting in Vauquois, Alfred had been badly injured, and his continued survival had been uncertain. As Herr Lichtermann nursed the ailing Watcher back to health, Gantry had confided in him about the demons that walked the earth, striving to destroy humanity, and The Council's role in vanquishing them. After hearing Alfred's fantastic tales, and already having seen the proof with his own eyes, Friedrich immediately decided he had been fighting the wrong war, and asked to become a part of The Council. Ileana and Friedrich became fast friends, and often sparred together on the weekends when they weren't engaged in formal training. However, friends and sparring partners were all they ever were, as he was ten years her senior. When pressed on the issue, Ileana had the following to say.

_Dude! That's gross. He was old enough to be… okay, not my father, but he was my dad's friend. It would have been like dating my uncle. Also, German? Not that there's anything wrong with that. Hell, your great-great grandfather was German. But we were still in the middle of a war, and he had been fighting for the other side. It would've been like sleeping with the enemy. And he just wasn't my type. He was too tall. And had bushy eyebrows. And a weird nose._

Ileana would spend a total of three years training with The Council. During that time, she insisted she be trained in combat as rigorously as if she herself were a Potential Slayer. If she wanted be effective as a Watcher, she told them, then she had to be able hold her own in battle without the Chosen One. No Slayer could achieve her maximum efficiency in the fight against evil if she also had to protect her Watcher. In between her grueling physical training sessions, she also underwent hours of intensive academic education every day.

_I just wanted to learn as much as I could, as quickly as possible. So for the first six months, I'd spend most of the day training. Hand to hand, weapons combat, working out. Then the rest of the day, and half the night it was hitting the books, either with formal lessons, or doing homework. Some nights I'd barely get four hours of sleep in, before I had to get up and do it all again the next day. The next year and a half or so, we balanced it out better. I still put in eighteen hour days, but it was split up more evenly. I'd spend about a third of the day on combat, a third on books, and the other third with The Coven. They weren't part of The Council, specifically, but they worked closely with them, helping them locate Potentials, warning them of impending doom, that kind of thing. Most Watchers didn't train with them a whole lot, except when it came to learning basic magicks. But with our family's history, they thought I could benefit from spending more time with them, and I thought so too. It was part of why I agreed to the training in the first place._

For the last year Ileana spent with The Council, her regimen changed yet again. From sunrise until lunchtime, she focused on academics. After lunch, until sunset, she worked with The Coven. Then, at her own insistence, she patrolled London and its surrounding areas after dinner, just as the Slayer would. She would stay out until mere hours before sunrise, again reducing herself to just four hours of sleep per night. Sometimes Friedrich would join her, but mostly she went alone. Occasionally, and without warning, The Council would set up challenges for her. None were quite as dangerous as the test Slayers were forced to endure on their eighteenth birthday, known as the Cruciamentum, in which they were stripped of their powers via a combination of drugs and trapped with a powerful foe, but no less terrifying.

_I never knew when they were coming, or when they were, until after. Sometimes, I'd have them one after the other. On the same day, even! Then sometimes it would be days or even weeks between. So each time I was in a fight, I had to assume it was real, and no one was going to come to my rescue with a dart gun. And about fifty percent of the time it _was_ real, anyway. I just never knew. But it was good. I know you all, and a lot of Slayers have had problems with The Council, and with good reason, but I wouldn't trade my time with them for anything._

July 16, 1919 saw the end of Ileana's formal training. It wasn't that she thought she had nothing more to learn, but she decided she no longer needed The Council to teach it to her. With The Coven's help, she had learned to hone her psychic abilities, and as a result had begun having clearer more detailed dreams about the girl in Germany. Part of her studies had included learning to read, as well as speak German, a subject in which her friendship with Friedrich proved quite beneficial. Also thanks in part to Friedrich, she now knew that the dreams she had been having were of Munich, and if not in the present, were sometime in the near future.

She was also positive that the red haired girl she'd been dreaming about was destined to become the Slayer. The last letter she'd received from Morrigan stated that The Slayer she had been sent to keep an eye on, Dot Singer, had just passed her Cruciamentum. It was the first time either girl had ever been witness to the barbaric test, though they had heard of it from Claudette, and Ileana had read about several such tests during her studies. Though Dot had survived the rite of passage, Morrigan feared her time as the Slayer was reaching its end. Ileana's quest for the red haired German girl was now of paramount importance. It was time for Ileana to move on.

The Council's Head of Directors, Harold Travers, renewed his offer to make her a Watcher, possibly even assigning her to the German girl once she was located, and if it was determined that she was in fact a Potential Slayer. Ileana graciously declined, as she was still uncomfortable with the idea of being the one primarily responsible for the Slayer's success or failure. She told them instead that she thought her services would be best put to use providing back-up to already active Watchers and their Potentials. It was a somewhat unorthodox idea, but Mr. Travers, being somewhat unorthodox himself, agreed that having a kind of stand-in Watcher on hand could prove beneficial to the cause, especially given the unstable times they were living in.

**Emmett Rosenberg**

The Council arranged for her to be relocated to Munich, and soon after that, she got her first lucky break when she stopped into a local shop to buy stationary so she could keep in touch with Morrigan. The shop's owner, Ulrich Kessler happened to be there working on the books, and when Ileana saw him, she knew immediately that he was somehow connected to the girl she had come to find.

_Well, for starters, he looked like her. Or rather, I guess, _she_ looked like _him_. They both had the same red hair and bright green eyes. Looking at him, it was like I was suddenly looking at her. I mean, my brain made me see her standing there instead of him. I dunno. It's hard to explain. It was like a mini-vision, I guess. So I kinda hung around for a while, pretending to look at stuff, hoping to maybe hear something about the girl. Or hear enough to know there was no girl, and I was wrong. I wasn't. A few minutes later, I heard his employee, Emmett Rosenberg I learned later, ask about a girl named Britta. His daughter. And when I heard the name, I dunno, it was like something clicked. I mean, I never got a name in my dreams, or anything, but it just sounded right. It was like the mythical light shining down, like you see in movies and stuff. Like _[imitates heavenly choir] "_Ahhhhhhh!"_

Though she wasn't sure how she would go about it, Ileana knew that somehow she had to get herself introduced to the Kessler family. As she listened to the two gentlemen converse, she started to get an idea. Emmett and Herr Kessler seemed to be fairly friendly with each other, discussing one another's personal lives, and joking around. One of the things they joked about was Emmett's love life. He didn't have one. Herr Kessler teasingly inquired whether he perhaps preferred men. Rosenberg assured him that no, that was not the case; he simply hadn't the time to meet anyone. Ileana peered at him over the shelves she was perusing. He was reasonably attractive, with no glaring flaws that she could see.

_He was tall, slender, seemed to be in good shape. Brown hair, light brown eyes. Good lookin', but nothin' special. But he seemed nice. His nose kind of crinkled when he laughed, and he did this thing with his mouth, like kind of a sideways kissy-face, when he wanted to laugh at something, but didn't think he should. _[nods]_ I could see myself dating him. So I wandered around until Herr Kessler left and it was just the two of us, then I grabbed some random stationary set, carried it to the counter, and just kinda plopped it down in front of him. He looked up all startled, like he didn't know I was there, though we did say "Hello" when I came in. I guess with Herr Kessler teasing him, he just forgot anyone else was in the store. And before I could even say anything— I wasn't even sure _what_ I was going to say— he just starts turning beet red. Like I had just flashed him or something. I figured he must've guessed that I overheard their conversation. And he starts stammering, all flustered, and asked the usual "Is that all?" kinda thing. I used the fact that I was new in town and most definitely _not_ German to my advantage, and told him something like, "My German is not so good," or actually closer to "I German, not me." And I could see him suddenly relax, like he'd been holding his breath or something? Cuz he thought I didn't understand? And he says, "Oh, you're French?" I guess I still had my accent. _[shrugs] _Anyway he got all excited, and he starts speaking to me in French, which was cool because that was pretty much my first language. I mean, not really, cuz I was raised English, but _in_ France. And Switzerland. And anyway, we started talking, and he actually turned about to be pretty cool once he got past his shyness. He wanted to hear all about the places I'd been, cuz he said he's never been outside of Munich, except for the one year he spent studying in Berlin. _

_And anyway, to make a long story short, he ended up taking me to a show that night at the Gabriel Filmtheater, and it was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. I'd never been to a show before. There just wasn't the time. And Oh My God! It could've been the worst piece of crap ever made and I wouldn't have known it. Just seeing the pictures moving around on the screen- that alone made it too cool for words! But this… The story was just… Awesome. It was called… Knob… something. The Blue Knob? _[shakes head]_ No, that's not right… Der Knabe in Blau! Yeah, that was it. The Blue Boy. It's about this rich guy, right? And he's like the last surviving member of his family— sound familiar? Wait. It gets better. And he's all alone in this huge castle, and he just keeps staring at this painting of one of his ancestors— The Blue Boy— and he's got this emerald on. The boy. Not the guy. And this emerald's like cursed or something. All it does is bring horrible bad luck. Like of the fatal kind. And he- the guy— thinks he might be the reincarnation of this boy. So he goes to sleep and dreams that the boy pops out of the painting and leads him to the emerald which was hidden the house somewhere. And then a bunch of gypsies come and ruin everything and… Sorry. That's not really what this is about, is it?_

To make a short story longer, that date became the first of many for Ileana and Emmett. They had been dating officially for only about three weeks when Ileana was finally formally introduced to Herr Kessler. As it turned out, the Kesslers and the Rosenbergs had been close friends for many years. Emmett's father, Armand Rosenberg, and Herr Kessler (Uncle Uri, in private) had served together in the German Army under Emperor Wilhelm II, until Herr Rosenberg lost his life in The Battle of Marne. When Herr Kessler returned from the war, he took it upon himself to look after Emmett and his mother, Frieda, and the Kessler household became like a second home for Emmett, particularly after Frieda's passing from an unknown illness earlier that year. Because of this close relationship between the two families, it was only natural that Emmett told his "uncle" all about Ileana. He then insisted that Emmett bring Ileana to dine with the Kessler family.

_And that's when I finally got to meet Britta. And even though she was bit younger than the girl in my visions- I realized by then that that's what they were. Not dreams- I recognized her right away. And I knew she was The One. The Slayer. Or, would be, at least. The next day, I wired The Council and told them, but they insisted she was too young. She was only like 13 or 14. They said that even if she _was_ a Potential, there was no way too even test for it. But I knew that was B.S. from my studies. There was a Slayer in the 1300's that was discovered when she was 13. While she was still just a Potential. So they must have had some way to test for it. I think maybe they just didn't believe me, or thought I was full of it. Like I didn't know the difference between dreams and reality._

But Ileana would not be swayed. She continued to use her relationship with Emmett as a means to observe Britta. But let me be clear, as clear as Ileana was when she told me the story. While she did initially approach Emmett because of his relationship with Herr Kessler, and consequently, Britta, she insists that wasn't her sole reason for continuing the relationship. He was a genuinely nice guy, she told me, and she quickly developed real feelings for him. The chance to keep an eye on Britta was merely a bonus, and there were plenty of chances to be had. That first evening with the Kesslers was but one of many more to come. By December, 1919 Ileana and Emmett were in what you would call a "serious relationship", and dinners with the Kesslers were a regular occurrence. Ileana got on so well with Emmett's surrogate family, that it was not unusual for her to spend time with them on her own. Sometimes, she would even babysit Britta's younger brothers, or stand in for Britta's chaperone, Frau Kinkle, when she was unavailable.

One year to the day of Ileana and Emmett's first meeting, Emmett proposed over a lavish picnic near a brook which ran through Herr Kessler's property. Naturally, she accepted and the pair were wed in that very spot on September 18, 1920. Herr Kessler and his sons were groomsmen, while Britta and Frau Kessler stood as the bridesmaids. Alfred came all the way from London to give her away. Sadly, Morrigan was unable to attend, as she had her hands full with Angel and the current Slayer (no, not together). In fact, most of those gathered were friends of Emmett and the Kesslers. Nonetheless, Ileana tells me it was beautiful ceremony, and apart from missing her sister, she wouldn't change a thing.

It wasn't long before Ileana found herself pregnant with the next generation of Gallagher girls. Of course, back then, she had no real way of knowing she was having a girl, let alone two, but having learned about our family's history from The Book, she had a pretty good idea. She also had a pretty good understanding of the greater ramifications of this new development, thanks in part to Angel's contribution to the Family Diary. Granted, Angel (or rather Angelus) was no longer in the killing fields, but that hadn't saved Annie, and he'd had nothing to do with Colleen's death, and very little to do with Eve's. Neither Ileana nor Morrigan were necessarily out of the woods just because Angel's circumstances had changed. So while other moms-to-be would normally be thinking up baby names and preparing nurseries, Ileana made a Will. She wanted nothing left to chance when it came to the care of her children.

Naturally, her first choice was that they remain with their father. Failing that, she decided they should be placed with The Council, preferably Alfred, if he was available, or Friedrich, if he was not. If neither was up (or alive) for the task, she trusted The Council's judgment as to their placement. She and Morrigan had fared just fine under The Council's care, even if it did take several tries to get it right, and she saw no reason her children wouldn't do just as well being raised by a Watcher. Ideally, she would've sent them to her sister, but while Morrigan had only good things to say about Angel, Ileana still had reservations. He was a vampire, after all. And who was to say Morrigan would even outlast Ileana? It was just as likely that Morrigan would be the first to go. Perhaps she had already, and the news had yet to arrive.

She drafted her Will, clearly stating where her children should be placed in the event of her demise, and leaving all of her assets to them, and their caretakers. With that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, she wrote three letters. The first was to her husband. He still had no idea about her family, or The Council, or any of the things pertaining to demons or Slayers. She explained it all to him in a three-page letter, which she then hid in the bottom of her underwear drawer, along with her Will. She didn't want to worry him needlessly, but if anything happened to her, she thought he should have some understanding of why it had happened. The next letter was less flowery, but short and to the point. She wrote The Council, briefly highlighting the pattern in the family (which she was sure they already knew), explaining her current circumstances, and her wishes should the unthinkable happen.

The final letter, she wrote to her sister. Since she knew there was a chance that Morrigan was already gone, she addressed it to Angel as well, and it served several purposes. The first was the usual, sharing good news with family. Secondly, it served as a kind of warning of what was to come. Or what possibly was to come. Lastly, it explained her decision regarding her children. She wanted them both to understand that her reasons for not naming them as guardians were not personal. She harbored no ill will towards Angel, in theory, but the fact remained that he _was_ a vampire, and therefore not the ideal choice as a pseudo parent for her child. But even that wasn't the primary motivator behind her decision. It was the fact that if the family cycle of birth and death held up, then Morrigan's days were just as numbered as her own. All in all it just wasn't the right decision.

Ileana sent off her letters, along with a telegram to Morrigan informing her that a letter was on the way, in case she and Angel should decide pick up and move again. From then on, they promised to keep in constant contact. Communication between them, of late, had been spotty at best, and it was now more important than ever that they keep in touch. They kept each other continually updated on their respective lives, and the lives of those they had chosen to protect. When Ileana went into labor in the wee hours of July 7, 1921, she arranged for a telegram to be sent to Morrigan, even before she sent for a doctor. As a result, Claudia and Simone (named for the Slayer that helped raise Morrigan and Ileana) were born with little medical intervention. According to Ileana, the doctor arrived just in time to "catch".

**Britta Kessler**

Over the course of the previous year, and the one to follow, as Ileana watched Britta grow into the confident young woman she would become, Ileana became ever more convinced she was watching a future Slayer. Ileana continued to make her case to The Council, and as Britta approached her fifteenth birthday, they finally agreed to have her tested. They sent Ileana the list of ingredients and instructions for performing the locator spell, which confirmed that Britta was indeed a Potential Slayer, as Ileana had known all along. After reporting her findings to The Council, Ileana was again offered the opportunity to serve as Britta's official Watcher. They reasoned that she already had the perfect cover, given her already close relationship with Kessler family. Ileana argued that was the precise reason she shouldn't be the girl's Watcher. She was too close. She suggested instead that the newest member of their fold, Friedrich Lichtermann, take up the mantle, as he was German, like Britta and her family, and as a former teacher, he had the perfect cover already. The Council was reluctant to send someone so inexperienced, but they couldn't argue with Ileana's logic, and as their options were somewhat limited after the Great War, Ileana was given the green light to begin paving the way for Herr Lichtermann's arrival.

_Well, it just so happened that Britta had been having a hard time in school. Not that she wasn't smart, mind you. On the contrary, I thought she was brilliant. She had a sharp mind and loved to learn. But she wasn't really getting the attention she needed, and half the time she was just plain bored. She wasn't the smartest kid in class, but she was no idiot either. She fell somewhere in the middle. So the teachers were constantly passing her over in favor of kids who were either smarter or dumber than she was. I mentioned all this to Uri, and suggested he might consider getting her a tutor, and oh by the way, I know just the guy. _[giggles]

At Ileana's suggestion, and due to Herr Lichtermann's impeccable teaching credentials, the new Watcher was hired as Britta's tutor. For the next two years, between the reading, writing, and arithmetic, Herr Lichtermann taught Britta the ways of The Force. As Ileana explains, that was easier said than done.

_I mean, how do you even bring that up? "That's enough history for today. Now let's talk about vampires." That's a one way ticket to "Dad, I think my tutor's crazy." So I came along the day he first brought it up, about a month after he started tutoring her. Naturally, she was a bit skeptical at first. So I told her some of my Slayer stories- I left out the part about Claudette's death, of course- and showed her some of my battle scars. Nothing like the ones you got saddled with, but I guess they were pretty convincing. Or else she just really wanted to believe. And I think showing her one of The Council's Big Books of Demons helped also. Or it could have been finding out how strong she already was. That first day, we really put her through her paces, giving her various strength tests, testing her reflexes, things of that nature. She was really good. Took to it right away. Like a fish to water, as they say. That was really all the convincing she needed, I guess. Though it would've helped if there was a vampire nearby to show her. But there wasn't. Two years in Munich and not a single vamp or demon to be found. And not for lack of lookin' either. I went huntin' almost every night. There was just wasn't any around. Not that I ever saw, anyway._

Britta would spend the next two years training to become the Slayer. Still during all that time not a single vampire, nor demon of any kind showed itself, either in Munich, or in the surrounding cities to which Herr Lichtermann sometimes took her on field trips. It was starting to look like Britta would never become the Slayer, for what would be the point if she did? How can one be a Slayer, if there was nothing to slay? That didn't deter Britta, however. She continued to study hard and train harder. She was determined to be the best Slayer that ever lived. Sometimes Ileana would train with the young Potential and her Watcher, but most times not. She had her own life to live, and being a Watcher was not part of it.

That didn't mean she didn't stay involved with Britta's life, both with the mundane and slaying aspects. Ileana and Emmett continued to take regular meals with the Kesslers, and about once a month on the weekends, Ileana would take the girl shopping in town, or to a movie. During these visits, apart from the rest of the family, Britta would bring Ileana up to date on her training, and ask Ileana all sorts of questions.

_Like I said, she had a very inquisitive mind. She knew Friedrich wasn't telling her everything he knew, or everything she thought she _should_ know. And she also figured out pretty quick that I knew quite a bit more than he did. She wanted to know about my experiences in the field. About Claudette- I eventually had to tell her about her- and about the non-vampire type demons I'd run up against. And about magick and… oh everything. She wanted to hear it all. The good and the bad. I even told her about Angel. Or Angelus, rather. What little I knew, anyway. Which wasn't much. I told her what I remembered from The Book. His version of things. Of course, I left out the really gruesome parts. Y'know, I mentioned it, but I kinda glossed over it. No need to traumatize the poor thing. But she was absolutely fascinated by the whole thing. How none of us had lived very long and we'd all met horrible ends. She said we were sorta like Slayers ourselves that way. And I guess maybe she was right. I mean none of us (up till then anyway) really lived much longer than the average Slayer. And it was a rather lonely existence if you think about it. I didn't bother to tell her about the whole soul thing. I thought it was too much information to process. And for some reason I thought that should be between us. Keep it in the family, y'know?_

On November 6, 1923, Ileana received a telegram from Morrigan in New York. Ardita O'Reilly, the second Slayer Morrigan had served as a kind of secondary Watcher to, had lost her life to a Prio Motu, alongside her Watcher, David James (known primarily as Mr. Whiskers). Unable to stomach watching another Slayer die, she was leaving the "business" and moving to "the country". She didn't say where. A few days later, on November 8, 1923, Herr Lichtermann received a telegram of his own. It was from The Council and said only, "From this moment on, Herr Lichtermann, always be at your best." Britta had finally got her wish. She was the Slayer.

The rest of the day was nothing less than chaotic. After that fateful breakfast at which both Slayer and Watcher became aware of their new identities, Britta and Friedrich spent the rest of the morning training and discussing all things Slayer related. They returned to the main house on the Kessler estate to find her father had left a rather extensive shopping list for Britta to complete in town. As was usually the case, Herr Lichtermann accompanied her. Despite his intention to stay close to his young charge, given the news they had just received (though he normally left her to her own devices on these often lengthy excursions), Herr Lichtermann found he simply couldn't keep up with his Slayer, and quickly grew weary. At Britta's insistence, he retired to his favorite bookshop while he waited for her to finish her errands. There, he happened across Ileana, doing some shopping of her own.

_He was sitting in the sunniest corner of the shop with a blank journal and a pint in front of him, looking completely defeated. Like he'd lost his best friend or something. Or his Slayer. That was my first thought, actually. "Oh dear God. Something's happened to Britta." So naturally, I asked him what happened. He told me about the telegram, and how well Britta had done in their training session that day, and how proud he was of her. To me, that sounded like a good thing. So I'm like, "Then what's the problem? Why do you look like you got kicked in the puppy?" He told me that since Britta had had no opportunity for any real field experience, he was worried about how she would do when the demons and such started coming out of the woodwork, like they often did when a when a new Slayer was called. I tried to assure him that she would do just fine. He- _we_- had trained her well, and she always gave it her all, both in her physical training, and in academics. He had nothing to worry about, I told him. But I just didn't feel it. I knew her number was coming up. I just didn't know when. Then he told me what she made him promise. That she wouldn't die alone. That whatever happened, he would be there with her. Until the end._

_It was a stupid thing to promise. Shit happens, y'know? You can't predict every little thing. Especially when it comes to demons. And there's any number of things that could have happened to make it impossible for him to keep a promise like that. The second he told me that, I just felt this… incredible dread. It was like a physical thing. Right in the pit of my stomach. Like when you eat too many pancakes. Y'know? How it just sits there? It was like that. Only, without the pancakey goodness. And when we caught up with her later and she told us about the movie being made in town that a friend of hers had invited her to, the pancake turned into curdled milk and peanut butter. I seriously wanted to throw up. But I couldn't, y'know?_

For reasons unfathomable even to her, Ileana knew she had to go along, though she had no idea what that would entail. As you've come to learn, most of the women in my family have been blessed (or perhaps cursed) with the ability to see the future. Unfortunately, that rarely includes the ability to see one's own future. When it does, it's never enough information to change one's fate. For example, I knew, several months before it happened, that Angel was going to lose his soul. I knew how, and had a vague understanding of why it had to be that way. However, I had no idea that my own sister, in the course of becoming his beck-and-call girl, was going to turn on me. Nor did it ever occur to me (though it should have) that Angelus would use everything I (or Kestryl) had ever told Angel as a weapon against me. Likewise, Ileana was completely unaware of the link between Britta's fate, and her own.

_She desperately wanted to go to this thing, and she knew Uri wouldn't let her go if Friedrich didn't go. It was called, "Silent Screams". One of those Nosferatu-esque horror films. Friedrich hated those kind of films. Even more than he hated films in general. He just couldn't wrap his head around the idea of letting someone else's imagination tell a story. He liked books. Where his own mind drew the pictures. I had tried to explain to him it was no different than watching a play, except that it was prerecorded, but he insisted it was different. Of course, he could never quite explain _how_ it was different. It just _was. _I think he was just old fashioned. A sixty-four year-old trapped in a thirty-four year-old's body. I think that's what finally convinced him. Besides Britta's begging, that is. He really was a pushover when it came to his Slayer. Even when she was just a Potential. He had a terrible time saying "No" to her. But he hated being called "old", which is exactly what we did, Britta and I. I think it helped, too, that I said I would go. If he said no, he'd sorta be the odd man out. The old fuddy-duddy that didn't know how to have fun._

_I had planned to go alone that night, without Emmett. I mean knew something was gonna go down there, y'know, because of my dreams? I just didn't know what, though. But I knew I was probably gonna have to jump in on Britta's behalf, somehow. I didn't wanna have to worry about Emmett, too. But when I told him what I was doing he insisted on going. We hadn't really spent much quality time together since the girls were born, and it wasn't really fair to expect him to stay home alone with them while I went out and had "fun". Like I said, he didn't know about the Slayer stuff, so I couldn't very well tell him I was going there to work, not to have fun. I told him if the Kesslers agreed to babysit, he could go. If not, then I'd stay home with him. It was only fair, right? I didn't really expect they would. Thought I'd sneak out somehow and go anyway. But they surprised me and said they'd be happy to watch their quasi-grandchildren. So I was stuck. _

_We waited at the Kesslers' and rode along with Britta and Friedrich. Britta's friend, Marta Bruesehaber was picking us up in their family's motorcar, along with her driver, of course. The Bruesehabers and the Kesslers were sort of frenemies. Herrs Kessler and Bruesehaber had competing breweries in Munich, but ran some stationary shops together outside of town. They were friends, but they weren't, y'know? And I think the fact that Herr Bruesehaber was so quick to embrace new technology was kind of a point of contention between them. Uri, like Friedrich, had fought in the war, and I think the new stuff kinda scared him a little, cuz it reminded him of the war. Especially cars. Uri refused to get one, even though he could afford it. Easily. But Bruesehaber was jumping into the twentieth century with both feet. I think Uri saw it as a personal attack against him. Like Bruesehaber was thumbing his nose at the Kesslers. I was sure he was gonna change his mind when he saw the car pull up, and that would be that. If Britta couldn't go, then I had no reason to go either, and everything would be just fine. But he didn't. So I kissed the girls goodbye, and again, I thought I was gonna be sick. I almost called the whole thing off, but of course by then it was too late. _

_We got to the mansion, and before we even got to the door, I just felt this… I don't know even how to describe it. It was like this force field or something. Kinda like walking into the wind, I guess. I mean not literally, of course, but like something was trying to keep me out. I shoulda listened to it. But Britta didn't seem to notice, and neither did Friedrich. Emmett, of course, was oblivious. So I didn't say anything and just went along. We got inside, and then Marta introduced us to Gunter, the man who'd invited us in the first place. He was very white and very blond. And very… I don't wanna say 'evil', but yeah. That's the vibe I got. I couldn't bring myself to shake hands with him. Told him I had germ thing, or something. But the rest of them did. Emmett made a point of saying how cold his hand was. And Britta made a face. I don't think she was even aware of it, but I knew she'd picked up on the same thing I had. After we left him to go further into the mansion, Britta whispered to us that he seemed off, somehow. Something about the way he moved. Wasn't quite normal, she said. I knew that was her Slayer senses kicking in. We should've taken that as a hint, and bailed, but of course we didn't._

_After a few minutes, the film's director, and self-proclaimed "star" _[rolls eyes], _Erich Sahr, introduced himself. He was a pompous ass with a pompous little goatee. Completely full of himself. He went on and on about the motion picture industry, and how important German films and filmmakers were becoming in Hollywood, and blah, blah, blah. If I'd had to listen to him much longer, I swear I would've done myself in. Finally, after the longest ten minutes of my life he ushered us into the screening room to watch his "masterpiece". It was really the worst piece of filth I've ever seen. Even to this day. Nothing more or less than blood-porn. It was awful. I seriously threw up in my mouth. Almost every scene showed someone getting ripped apart in some horrible fashion. And the 'Special Effects'? Weren't. I mean. They weren't special. Or effects. I mean even though it was black and white, and grainy and choppy (not high quality at all), I could still tell it was real. I mean, I'd _seen_ the real deal before. More times than I cared to count. And I'd seen the fake shit too. I knew the difference. This wasn't a movie, so much as a film diary._

_Then came the big reveal. The last scene showed Erich (I refuse to call him "Herr" anything) and Gunter talking about gathering everyone together for a massacre in the guise of a party. This party. A few people were starting to get it already and were already making their way towards the exits, but of course it was too late. The picture ended and the lights came up and Erich confirmed what some of us already suspected. Then all hell broke loose. Vampires appeared seemingly out of nowhere, locked us all in, and almost before we had time to process that bit of unpleasantness, they started attacking. Fortunately Friedrich and I had both thought to bring stakes along. We had just enough time to pass some to Emmett and explain what to do with them, before the shit hit the fan. Britta, we found out, had had the presence of mind to bring some stakes of her own as well. I couldn't help but feel a little proud. One day as the Slayer- or of knowing she was the Slayer, at any rate- and she was already thinking like one. Bringing stakes to what was supposed to be just a regular party._

_But I didn't have much time to think about it, though, cuz then it was show time. Vamps were striking from every direction. Britta dove right in like a seasoned veteran, and dusted her first vamp in seconds. I was right behind her, metaphorically speaking, fighting off some of my own… I lost track of Emmett almost immediately, I'm sorry to say. To this day, I'm not sure what happened to him. I had a hard enough time keeping track of Britta and Friedrich. I had my hands full with just trying to stay alive. There was just too many of them and not enough of us, to be able to keep track._

_I don't know how much time passed. Like I said, I was a little preoccupied. But at some point I heard Britta calling for Friedrich. I fought my way over to her- we'd apparently gotten separated at some point- and reached her side in time to hear her tell him to get the people out. About that time, something struck me from behind. I let myself fall to the ground hoping to throw whatever it was off balance- I assumed it was humanoid, and not an object of some sort. It worked. Whoever it was fell right on top of me. I felt its fangs graze my skin, which told me, "Vampire". I tried to head-butt it, but I missed. So I rocked and rolled until I was on top and had better leverage, then kicked and elbowed it until I was in a better position to stake it. I finally got free of it, and looked up in time to see Britta pull her stake out of a wadded up tapestry, which suddenly went flat again. She looked at me, then glanced toward the door. She didn't say anything. Didn't have to. I covered her while she made a beeline for the door. By this time, Erich had figured out who she was, and was ordering his people to get her._

_That didn't stop her from getting to the door, and kicking it open, though. She held her own. Any Slayer would've been proud to count her as one of their own. And the second there was a way out, Friedrich went right through it with the rest of the rats, er, people, I mean. It's like, the second shit started to get real, he forgot everything he was supposed to do. His job, his promise. Everything but saving his own ass. It made me sick. And there was Britta. Screaming at Friedrich about his promise. He stopped for a just a second. Just long enough to look back at her, and then he was gone. And those few moments when she was paying attention to Friedrich instead of the vampires was all Erich's men needed to take her down. Distracted me too. They had me completely immobilized before I even knew what was happening, and all I could do was watch as they tore into Britta like a pack of wild dogs. Then everything went black._

_I woke up in the Kessler family mausoleum just barely in time to stake Britta before she devoured her former Watcher. Part of me, a very _big_ part, wanted to kill him myself. What happened to us was his fault. If he hadn't been such a coward, if he had kept his promise to Britta instead of pissing himself and running away (like he was doing right then), then we wouldn't have been distracted and we could've kept fighting and saved the day, and lived to fight another one. He was a piss poor Watcher, I thought at that moment, and he deserved to die. But a bigger part of me, the part that was (and is) still me, the part that wasn't starving and wanting to rip the throat out of anything that moved, and can sit here and drink and have a normal conversation with you, knew deep down, that Friedrich was just playing his part and everything that had happened, happened the way it was supposed to. It sucked, but that's the way it was. So I gave him a pass, but let him live. Told him if I ever saw him again, I'd kill him without even blinking._


	25. Morrigan Kalderash

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Morrigan Gantry (née Kalderash)**

**No Eyewitness**

Piecing together Morrigan's life after leaving Ileana, and before meeting Angel, is nearly impossible as there are no witnesses left to tell her tale. All that remains are a few sporadic journal entries, some telegrams, and a few letters to Ileana. The Council refuses to release any correspondence Morrigan may have exchanged with them. They claim it's "Official Council Business", even though I am family and have every right to it. Apparently, I have "unsavory associations", and can't be trusted with such "sensitive information". Of course, I could have just gone in and taken it, but there are way more of them than there are of me, and I really don't want to make an enemy out of the entire Watchers' Council. I'd have to kill them all, and I just don't have that kind of time or energy. Besides, then I'd have to deal with Buffy. Not that I couldn't take her, but I really don't want to have to deal with her whining and her holier-than-thou "Oh my god what have you done?" attitude. I save that for when it's really worth it. Like the time I went nightclubbing with Dru shortly before they raised The Judge (that one actually made the papers), or when Kes and I took a post-chipped Spike to Rome and partied like it was 1899. Totally worth it. Though I think Kes might disagree. I understand Angel wasn't too thrilled with her when she came home.

But I digress. My Slayer-pissing-off indiscretions are not the point. The point is, getting a few 80 year-old letters and telegrams does not fall under the "worth it" category, so I'll have to make do with what I have. Ileana has graciously given me access to the correspondence she received from Morrigan after their separation in 1916. The telegrams, unfortunately, often read like a word salad. Though more expedient than regular letters, they were by their very nature far less private. Although Morrigan and Ileana had grown up with The Council, and had both decided to continue working closely with them, they didn't completely trust the organization. They had seen through their own interactions with both Watchers and Slayers that The Council served its own agenda, which was not necessarily for the good and betterment of all. Even their own ancestors, who had also worked closely with The Council on numerous occasions wrote that The Council as a whole was not to be blindly trusted. Before her death, Annie had been explicit in her writings that The Council did not know of Angel's transformation or his continued existence. She felt that this knowledge must be kept from them at all costs. Ileana and Morrigan agreed that any communication between them regarding Angel, or anything else that was not strictly council business, should be handled with the utmost care. At a bookshop in London, before finally going their separate ways, Ileana and Morrigan came across a code book, written for the express purpose of exchanging sensitive information through the wire service. Of course, The Council had the same access to these codes as they did, but as you can see from the following example, it would take more than a cursory glance to decipher a telegram using this code.

************WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY************

**FEB 13, 1916**

**SAGA SPRINGER FICTOR ASP FINEST LG LENGTHEN**

**LOVE MORRIGAN**

On its own, this telegram makes no sense whatsoever. Even when placed in context with the letter sent just a few days later, it continues to make no sense unless you have a copy of the "Anglo-American Telegraphic Code" sitting next to you. Using that code, in conjunction with the following letter, the meaning becomes quite clear.

_**16**__**th**__** February, 1916**_

_Dear Ileana,_

_How is your training coming along so far? I hope you are learning as much as you can, and are finding it helpful. As I told you in my telegram, I have arrived in New York, for the most part, safely. Although traveling such a long distance over water leaves something to be desired. I have never in my life been happier to see dry land, even though the land in question was covered with debris and God knows what else. In fact, just a short while after disembarking, I saw a man relieving himself on the pavement. Right there in front of everybody! Disgusting! America, I am quickly learning, is not the land of milk and honey everyone would have us believe. More like the land of filth and urine._

_As I said in my telegram, I've decided to stay awhile instead of going straight on to Chicago. I'm still having the dreams, and it seems they've only become clearer and more frequent since we parted ways, and even more so since arriving in New York. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something in the air here, besides the stench of urine, and I think it bears investigating. Already, I've seen familiar landmarks that I could only have seen in my dreams. I don't know if it has anything to do with HIM, but I feel something wants me to be here, and if Miss Singer is in Chicago, then I can think of no other reason. HE has to be here, or perhaps will be soon. I can't move on until I've made every effort to find out for sure._

_I've rented myself a room at place called The Guardian, right across from Washington Square Park, in Manhattan. It's on the corner of West 4__th__ Street, and Washington Square East. I'm not sure how that's possible, but that's what the signs tell me. The outside is unassuming, and the inside is unimpressive. The furnishings look second-hand. The floors are, for the most part, bare. The paint is faded and peeling in some places and the walls have cracks in them, but it's otherwise clean and quiet. And so far, my fellow residents have kept to themselves, and the proprietor hasn't asked any questions. It seemed as fitting a place as any. Time will tell._

_Signing out for now. Will write again soon._

_Love,_

_Morrigan_

From reading this letter, we can see that Morrigan's telegram to Ileana can be translated as follows: "I have arrived safely and well. Am staying until about the end of the month. Going to try to find Angel. Will write soon with more details." Or maybe it isn't so obvious. After all, I do have the code book at my disposal. Though no code book would ever tell you what "LG" means, and Morrigan never mentions "HIM" by name. It was Ileana that informed me that "LG" was simply Angel's initials from when he was human. It seemed the most logical way to refer to him covertly, without tipping off eyesdroppers that there was a person (or vampire) involved. And boy, did I feel dumb when she told me that. In hindsight, it rather seems like a no-brainer, doesn't it?

************WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY************

**FEB 21, 1916**

**SEGNO LG SOBERNESS FLORIFORM HEART INVISED WET**

**LOVE MORRIGAN**

Roughly translated: "I have not yet seen Angel, but something is following me. Will look into it this week."

_**23**__**rd**__** February, 1916**_

_Dear Ileana,_

_I still have seen no sign of HIM, but something is definitely here. I feel like I'm being watched constantly. It's like that tickle you feel at the back of your neck when there's someone there. But when I turn to look, there's nobody there. It might be HIM, but I fear it may just as likely be something else. People at The Guardian have been acting strange. Paranoid. And I can see no obvious reason for it. I'll look into it some, but my main priority here is finding HIM, if HE is indeed here. I've decided that the best way to find a duck is to behave like a duck, so I've adjusted my schedule accordingly. Sleeping during the day, awake at night. That's why the last telegram was so late. I hope it reached you all right. I'm going to spend this week really looking for HIM. I have no idea where HE might go if HE were here, but I'm going to find out, and then start my search there. If I still turn up nothing, I will move on to Chicago like we originally planned. I hope I'm not too late._

_Until then, stay safe._

_Love,_

_Morrigan_

As I perused Morrigan's writings, I found myself wondering if Angel was in fact in New York at the same time she was, or if the presence she felt was something else entirely, and she only thought it was Angel because of her dreams. It had been several weeks since I had confronted Angel with regards to Annie's accusations, and reinvited him to my home. Kestryl stopped me as I turned to leave, in a panic over a vision she had just had. I had had some pretty disturbing dreams myself the night before, and none of them made any sense in context with current events at that time. Since I didn't know what to make of any of it, and was still reeling from the Christmas fiasco, I did what any sane person would do. I avoided all of it. Angel, the Scoobies, the Family. Anything that wasn't strictly a matter of cosmic order. Truthfully, I wanted to avoid that too, but my conscience wouldn't let me. Angel respectfully stayed away, and we didn't speak except in passing when accompanying Buffy on some Slayer related business, or when I was visiting Kestryl. I finally went to see him on his birthday (his actual birthday, not his rebirthday), and between drinks and tokes, we talked about Morrigan.

It turns out he and Morrigan were not only living in New York at the same time, but were actually in the same neighborhood. He was right across the park from Morrigan in a little place called The Earle, now known as The Washington Square Hotel. He too, admitted to noticing a presence in the area, though he cannot say for certain that it was related to Morrigan in any way. At the time, he had no reason to believe she would have come to New York, or that she would be trying to find him. Every day he hoped she (or Ileana, or both) might one day turn up, but he never really believed it would happen. He expected to be alone for a very long time, possibly forever. He assumed the tingling he felt at the back of his neck when he took his nightly strolls was due the demon he was sure lived among the residents of The Guardian. It was there, on the far side of the park from his own temporary home, that he noticed it the most. Sometimes he felt it around town, at the local bar he liked to frequent, or wandering through the park, or out on the street in front of his building, but it was always strongest as he passed The Guardian. At times, it was as if he were being pulled along by an invisible wire, which drew him to the place. More than once, he says, he actually caught himself on the steps, about to go inside.

_**It was like I blacked out. I'd be walking along, not really going anywhere, not really thinking about anything. Just walking. And then, the next thing I knew, I'd be at the front door. I didn't know why I was there, never even remembered **_**going**_** there. Just all of a sudden, there I was.**_

Again, I ask Angel if looking back, he thinks that maybe it was Morrigan he was sensing as he passed by those doors. He pauses for a moment, thinking. It is less like he is trying to recall a memory, and more as if he were trying to recreate it in front of him. Like a 3D movie. Or a Holodeck program, for you Star Trek nerds. Several seconds pass before he crinkles his nose, and shakes his head, then once more turns to make eye contact.

_**That might have been part of it, but I don't think that was all. Whatever I felt there, the most I felt was… not good. It made me sick, and it made me terrified. It **_**scared**_** me, Rowynne. And there's not a lot that scares me. Especially back then. If I sensed Morrigan under any of that, it was overshadowed by whatever else was in that building… God, the thought of her in that place, with whatever the hell was in there. I can't believe she was right under my nose, and I didn't know. If I had known, I could've gotten her out of there…**_

Angel begins to imply he could have saved Morrigan's life. I remind him that Morrigan's death occurred years later, and that there was nothing he could have done about it, but he won't hear it. After all he'd been through recently, starting with losing his soul, his subsequent stint in Hell, being tormented by The First Evil, and finally culminating in Kestryl's death, and Annie's post-Christmas shenantics, I think he's just grown accustomed to blaming himself. Even for things that he knows, deep down, are not his fault. Though I have plenty to blame him for myself, and a very large part of me dances with glee to see him suffer so, my heart goes out to him. No one should feel this much guilt over something they didn't cause, and couldn't have prevented. I wonder if he had read Morrigan's entries in the Family Diary, and if the prose contained therein would ease his pain, or add to it.

_**24**__**th**__** February, 1916**_

_I know I must be in the right place. There's been a tightness in my chest, of late, just like in my dreams. My throat is raw and I can't catch my breath. I think there must be a draft in my room, while I sleep, though I can find none when I awaken. I used to feel this way back home, when I first started having the dreams, but it would never last. By mid-morning, I would feel fine again. But it seems to be lasting longer and longer, now. I think whatever Force has been sending me these dreams is responsible for this also. It's trying to tell me that I'm on the right track. That HE's close._

_The dreams are a regular occurrence, now. Every time I close my eyes, I see HIM and the things HE's done. The images are becoming more vivid each time. I know what you're thinking. That I'm dreaming about HIM because I've been reading about HIM. If you're reading this, then I'm sure you've read HIS confession just before. But I haven't. I tried, but I couldn't read more than a couple pages in. It was just too much. So, no. It's not my imagination, my mind's interpretation of what I read in a book. These aren't just dreams I'm having, but memories. I'm sure of it. There are things in these dreams that I couldn't possibly know. Things I'm sure HE would've left out of HIS written account (though I can't say for sure, as I still can't bring myself to look). I don't think words could even adequately describe it._

_Previously, I was merely an observer, like I was watching a play, or a motion picture. But last night, or today, rather, I was an active participant. One of his victims. It was so intense. I felt every touch, every attack, every caress, as if it were really happening. Yes, I said caress. It was part of his modus operandi. In the dream, HE caressed me with a lover's touch, even as he was causing more pain than I'd ever felt in my life. And I was powerless to do anything about it, or even wake up. No matter how much my mind rebelled (in my dream), my treacherous body responded in kind, even as I instinctively struggled against my bonds. HIS eyes somehow managed to gleam with delight while simultaneously darkening with hunger, with longing, with- dare I say it?- lust, as HE watched the tiny droplets of blood appear on my skin, manifesting themselves in places that have never seen the light of day. I can sense HIS internal struggle as HE fights the impulse to devour me whole, take HIS fill of me, and end the game. And deep within, I want that too. Not to end my suffering, but to prolong it. I know that if I go with HIM now, if HE takes me down into the abyss, here in this moment, I will stay for all eternity, dangling in the precipice between life and death, pain and ecstasy. I crave it. The way birds crave the sky, or fish crave the sea. I ache to feel HIS fangs piercing into me as HE drinks deeply, draining me of all I have to offer. HE commanded me (not only with HIS actions, but with words) to respond this way. And I couldn't help but obey. HE touched me, and my body reached out to HIM. Against my will, I cried out, begging for more, despite the unbearable agony. It wasn't only fear of a harsher punishment that made me react this way. I honestly felt it. Somehow, HE __made__ me feel it._

_Even now, just thinking about it, I can feel it. I can feel HIS tongue against my flesh as HE gently, almost too gently, licks away the blood that HE himself brought forth from beneath my skin. I can feel the bruises HE left behind as HE had his way with me. And while I am relieved to find it was only a dream, there is an emptiness inside me. A part of me yearns to return to the place where the dreams live, to feel HIS touch once more, until there is no more feeling. But I still can't breathe, and that keeps me here, in this place._

I couldn't help but wonder, reading this, if Angel had similar dreams during this time. Were they just your average run-of-the-mill psychic dreams, or nightmares put in her head by whatever entity haunted The Guardian? Was it his nearness that made the dreams so vivid? So personal? My own dreams, before meeting him, were never like this. Rarely so detailed, and always in the third person. Like watching a movie. But then, at that time, we weren't right around the corner from each other. If we had been, then maybe they would've been different.

In any case, I decided to sit on this particular journal entry for a while, assuming he hadn't already read it. Things had finally seemed to calm down for a while and I didn't want to burden him with any more depressing family talk. Not on the first birthday he had celebrated in nearly three hundred years. Besides, I knew it wouldn't be long before things in Sunnydale heated up again, and I thought we could all use a bit of a break. Kes and I were still trying to sort out our visions about Angelus' impending return, and whether anything could, or should be done about it. It just wasn't a good time for discussions of the past. So I held off discussing any more family related issues with him, or even visiting much at all, until just before things got heavy again, right around Spring Break.

For some reason, even though I hadn't been feeling well and magic and malady never mix, I teleported instead of driving. I misjudged my destination and ran straight into the fountain with my bum knee. Not that both knees aren't messed up, but the right one is significantly worse. I went down hard, and only avoided completely immersing myself in the water because the fountain's bench was in my way. The Book, on the other hand, as well as my cane, decided a swim sounded nice, and they hit the water with a loud splash, floating just out of my reach. I thought about using my telekinesis, but with the luck I'd been having, I feared I would only make matters worse. Trying to ignore the pain in my knee, I sat on the bench and leaned over as far as I could, to get ahold of the cane. I failed, and landed face first in the drink, bashing my other knee in the process.

Angel peaked his head out (carefully, due to the daytime hour) just in time to see me flailing in the fountain trying to rescue The Book and the cane. Buffy and Kestryl were right behind him (apparently they had all been watching old movies on TV) and after some good natured ribbing from all three of them, Buffy came out to help me retrieve my items and get out of the water. She awkwardly helped me into the house, then Angel carried me into living room, which was decidedly more awkward. About halfway across the floor, I heard him gasp and for just a split second I thought he was going to drop me. He quickly regained his composure before anyone else noticed, but I knew he had discovered the one thing I was desperately trying to keep secret (damn him and his super sensitive hearing picking up the two extra heartbeats tagging along with me). Wisely, he kept this information to himself, until my sister decided open her big fat trap later on.

Angel settled me on the couch, then Kestryl whammied me up some dry clothes, and did her best to magic the moisture out of The Book and reverse the damage. If I had tried to do it, I probably would've set the thing on fire. She managed to salvage it, mostly. A few blurry spots remained, but nothing major. While she went to work trying to repair my leg, or at least make it not hurt, Angel and I got down to the business of discussing the reason for my visit (while silently trying to grill me on my condition). He insisted he had never read Morrigan's journal entries, even though he had had plenty of time with The Book after she died. He considered it an invasion of privacy. I reminded him that there is no expectation of privacy in death, and showed him the entry in question, asking if he had had dreams like those when they were in New York together.

Before answering, he glanced briefly at Buffy, unsure how much he should reveal in front of her. Realizing this may be a family matter, and hence none of her business, Buffy inquired as to whether she should go. As he opened his mouth to answer, I knew he was about to agree that she should, and I silenced him with a raise of my eyebrow. I pointed out, not for the first time, that if they were going to pursue a relationship with each other, then they needed to stop keeping secrets from one another. Mostly, I meant that Angel should stop keeping secrets, and Buffy needed to stop letting him. She needed to know the truth of him, and accept it, not run from it. I all but insisted she stay. Angel balked for a moment, then answered my question.

_**I always have dreams like these. **_[gestures to the page]_** Every time I close my eyes.**_ [sits]

A part of me will always revel in Angel's misery, after everything he put me (and my family) through as Angelus. I wanted to cheer and laugh in triumph. I didn't. Because another part of me remembers when we used to be friends. He was always there when I needed to talk. Or when I didn't. He didn't judge, only told me what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it. That part of me wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him it was okay. But it wasn't okay, and I didn't do that either. Instead I explained that I thought this particular dream was rather specific, and not like a normal nightmare. I thought he ought to be able to remember if he shared the dream with her. Like the dreams he and Buffy had shared over Christmas.

[shakes his head]_** Sorry, but this actually describes a lot of… things. **_[looks at me]_** You know. **_[looks away, shamed]_** Maybe, if I had something more to go on. If I knew what else was happening at the time. I remember… things. I'm not so good with exact dates.**_

I took The Book from him, and began looking for something more specific to show him. I don't know why it was so important to me, but somehow it was. That's when I realized the entry continued on the next page. I hadn't even thought to look, as it seemed like I had reached the end.

_Something terrible has happened. As I was about to leave on my nightly hunt for HIM, I heard a horrible scream from outside my room. It was Millie Davis, the girl who lives directly across the hall from me. Millie is about 22 years old, blond hair, blue eyes, and very pretty. Smart too. She's a student at Barnard College just a few miles from here. She's determined to be a doctor, though I told her such a thing is highly unlikely. There are no women doctors, that I know of. She just laughed when I told her that and said, "Well, I'll be the first then." And I had no doubt that she would be. As I said, she was determined._

_I don't suppose she'll be much of anything, now. When I heard the scream, I pounded on her door, but there was no answer. Not that I waited very long. I tried the knob and found it unlocked. The woman I found lying on the floor looked to be 80 years old! Millie was nowhere to be found. All of her belongings were in their proper place. I know I should have sent for a doctor right away, but I couldn't resist investigating a bit. Besides, the woman on the floor was stone dead. There was no helping her._

_At first I thought perhaps her grandmother had been visiting and had merely fallen dead while Millie was out. At the market, perhaps. Although I couldn't recall her ever having mentioned a grandmother coming to visit. It seems like that would be something she would have mentioned, even if only in passing. And I can't imagine Millie leaving the poor woman unattended, especially if she were in such ill health that she would drop dead like that. I took a closer look at the body, and finally noticed the necklace. It was a simple silver chain, with a plain gold band dangling from it. The inscription on the inside read, "Yours Always, Luke". Luke was Millie's boyfriend. He had joined the army to do his duty for "God and country", and had promised to marry her once his required enlistment was over. He had given her the ring just before he left. Millie never took it off. I don't know how it's possible, but I believe, after seeing that ring, that the old woman in Millie's room is none other than Millie, herself._

As he read, Angel's eyes grew as large as silver dollars, and I could see him clenching his jaw as he sometimes does when he's angry. I knew that something had clicked in his memory. Angel tells me he did in fact have a dream very similar to the one Morrigan describes. He remembers it because he had awakened early that night. As he often did, he went for a walk around the park, and as before, he found himself on the steps of The Guardian, unaware of where he was going or what he was doing.

_**I had turned to go and was halfway down the steps when I heard the scream. I went back to go in- obviously someone needed help- but I couldn't get through… **_[shrugs] _**I wasn't invited. I could hear people shouting upstairs… I'm guessing one of them was probably Morrigan. I knocked and called up until someone finally came down. A man. Mid-fifties, if I had to guess. Said a woman was dead. I asked if I could help, but he said no, just to send for the authorities. So that's what I did. I never made it inside, and never heard what happened.**_

****************WESTERN UNION TELEGRAM SENT FROM MORRIGAN GANTRY TO ILEANA GANTRY************

**FEB 29, 1916**

**ALLOW SEGNO LG SPLURGE DARNER 5 DECEITFUL DECAMPED FERRIAGE WHISKING NERITITE**

**LOVE MORRIGAN**

Roughly translated: "Still have not seen Angel, but I can't stay. There is great danger here. Five dead in five days. I fear I will be next."

In her journal, following her account of the mysterious apparent death of Millie Davis on February 24, 1916, Morrigan writes of four more unexplained fatalities in as many days. As with Millie, the discovery of each was preceded by a blood curdling scream, and each of the victims appeared to be in their mid-80's or above, although the residents assigned to the apartments each were found in were far younger. None of the occupants in question ever returned to The Guardian, lending credence to Morrigan's theory that the deceased were in fact the tenants, themselves. Apart from their chosen lodgings, Morrigan could find nothing to connect the victims. The two women (including Millie), and three men, were all from different walks of life and held different occupations. While Millie, a student, had come from Boston, the second victim, Fred Andrus, was a 43 year-old postal worker originally from Westerville, Ohio. The third victim, Harold Vanderzee, 28, was a factory worker from Red Bay, Alabama, while 36 year-old Gertrude Idelson, a New York native, was a seamstress. The latest victim, Joseph Dansbury, 52, was a police officer originally from Surprise, Arizona.

The only similarity she could find between the victims, other than the circumstances of their deaths, was their behavior just prior. Morrigan writes that just before their supposed deaths, she had observed each of them acting "shifty", talking to themselves, and looking over their shoulders as if they thought someone was watching them. Millie had accused the proprietor, Nathan Hart, of snooping through her belongings. Fred said Harold had stolen a pair of gloves. Harold thought Dansbury was spying on him through his phonograph. Ms. Idelson was certain Mr. Andrus had withheld some of her mail, although his route had been on the other side of town. Officer Dansbury, she said, had completely overreacted when she accidentally bumped into him on her way in after one of her fruitless searches for Angel. He had demanded to know what she had been doing out at that hour and had gone so far as to accuse her of solicitation, threatening to arrest her if he saw her out again.

Just before deciding to leave New York, with or without finding Angel, Morrigan wrote of hearing "whisperings". She couldn't make out any words, nor could she quite pinpoint their source, but she feared it was a sign that the next mysterious death would be her own. She made one last attempt to find Angel, spending the entire night and even some of the day, scouring the city, somehow still managing to miss him, despite his ridiculous proximity to her. She returned home empty handed, according her writings, intending catch a few hours' sleep before boarding a train to Chicago, but was kept awake by the unbearable draft she was sure permeated her apartment, and the persistent whispers that only seemed to be growing louder by the minute. She decided she couldn't afford to wait, and immediately gathered her belongings, leaving The Guardian without a second glance.

**Dorothy "Dot" Singer**

_**2nd March, 1916**_

_I have arrived in Chicago, and rented myself a room at the YWCA, some kind of women's shelter. They seem intent on educating me and making me into "a productive member of society." I told them I wasn't interested in any of that, and just wanted a place to rest my head for a day or two. They didn't seem to like the idea, but they liked my money just the same. We'll be out of each other's hair soon enough. I don't want to stay here anymore than they seem to want me here. I'm just not ready to see Miss Singer and her Watcher just yet. I just need to sleep._

_I didn't sleep very well on the train. Too much movement, too much noise, too much light. The whispers have stopped, though, and I can breathe again. This only confirms in my mind that there was something not right in that building. I can't help but think about poor Mr. Hart and the other residents. I should've done something to get them out of there, but what would I say? That I think there's a demon there attacking people? They'd put me away before I can blink. And I have to take care of myself, don't I? I have a job to do. I was never supposed to stop in New York, anyway._

_The dreams have also stopped. Not that I've been able to get much sleep, like I said, but what little I did manage was dreamless. I fear HE may have been in New York, after all, and for whatever reason I just missed HIM. It's a big city, easy to get lost. Then again, it may have been the demon sending me the dreams all along. Now I shall never know._

_I'll look up Miss Singer tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Right now, I'm just so tired._

Morrigan introduced herself to Dorothy Singer, the Vampire Slayer (a.k.a. "Dot"), and her Watcher, Reginald Hill, three days later on March 5. What she did during those three days is anybody's guess. Ileana received no word from her aside from her telegram, and Morrigan wrote nothing personal in her subsequent journal entries. She describes her initial meeting with the Slayer and her Watcher as "tense". Neither was particular receptive to Morrigan's offer of assistance. They perceived her as a threat, mistakenly believing The Council had sent her either as a replacement to Mr. Hill, or as a Council spy eager to find any reason to relieve the shell-shocked former soldier of his duties as Watcher. Morrigan assured them that this was not the case, and confessed that she had only accepted the made-up position of Council Liaison because they were paying her expenses. She told them she had no intention of painting either of them in a negative light when she made her required reports to The Council and honestly only wanted to help both of them, in whatever capacity they needed her.

They were both highly distrustful of The Council and only accepted Morrigan's offer after insisting she take an apartment in the building Reginald and Dot called home on the North Shore, so they could keep a constant eye on her, lest she run to The Council with their secrets. Morrigan didn't mind so much. She hated the YWCA, thought they were running some kind of cult, trying to brainwash her. As for these secrets, Morrigan had no idea what it was they were trying to hide, if anything. It may have simply been a case of inherent mistrust of The Council and its representatives.

As Morrigan became better acquainted with her Slayer, she came to learn that these paranoia-induced decrees were primarily coming from Mr. Hill. He had been gassed during the war and as a result, sometimes suffered from paranoid delusions and hallucinations. According to Dot, he had not been the same since his return. She confessed that she often felt alone, watcherless, under the tutelage of the post-war Reginald Hill, but he had become like a father to her, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him to another Watcher. When Reginald had left her to go fight in the Great War, The Council had sent another Watcher to replace him. He was a stuffy, pompous, beast of a man named Trevor Yulin, and he treated her less like a human being and more like a beast of burden, there to do his bidding. She didn't want to risk having another Watcher sent who was possibly even worse than the last one. She would rather have Reginald, weakened though he was, or no Watcher at all. She thought Morrigan was there to take him from her again, so she initially went along with his demands regarding Morrigan's continued involvement in their affairs.

_**10**__**th**__** July, 1916**_

_Dot is having what you might call a crisis of faith. She doesn't want to be the Slayer anymore. Not that anyone wants to be the Slayer, I suppose. But Dot has decided to resign from her duties. She flatly refuses to train, or patrol, or have anything to do with slaying whatsoever. She stays in her room and refuses to come out for anything. She is under the impression that as a Slayer, she does more harm than good, and that no Slayer at all is better than wearing the mantle herself. Reginald and I have both tried to reason with her, explain that no Slayer at all is exactly what she's leaving the world with if she won't do her duty, but she doesn't listen. She pretends not to care, but I know she does. She's just afraid of making another mistake like the one she made last week. But in refusing to fight, she is making the biggest mistake she could ever make. I just wish there was some way to make her see that._

_What happened last week was probably one of the worst things that could possibly happen during a Slayer's tenure, and I can't fault her at all for feeling the way she does. It started just before her birthday, a week ago Wednesday. Some little boy had gone missing. It was in all the papers. Matthew Robert Andrews, age 10, they said. Posters were up all over town. Half of Chicago's finest were out looking for this kid, but none seemed to be having any luck. Until Dot and I were out on a routine patrol, and there he was, right in the middle of Grant Park, as if he hadn't a care in the world. A normal kid playing in the park. We took him home to his parents. What else could we do? What would you do? Two days later (on Dot's birthday), his parents were found savagely murdered in their living room. They had been drained of their blood. The kid was missing. Again. It wasn't hard for Dot and I to put 2 and 2 together. Someone, depraved even for a demon, had turned this little boy into a vampire. Unknowingly, Dot and I had then delivered the monster wearing his face to his parents' waiting arms, only to have those arms torn clean off by the tiny demon posing as their son._

_That night, she went out with a vengeance, determined to find Matthew and stop him before the tragedy could escalate. He wasn't hard to find. He may have been a demon, but he still thought like a child. We found him in his own backyard, in his very own tree house. It should have been an easy kill. He was a child, inexperienced in both life and death, surrounded by wood. But he wasn't alone. He and 8 year old Sarah Shaw were playing together just like a couple of regular kids. They even asked us to come up and play with them. Dot went up, thinking it would be easier to take them if they had nowhere to go. I stayed below, saying I was afraid of heights. I thought if one of them got past her somehow I would be able to catch them before they got away. Dot spoke to them for a moment before pulling out her stake, then in a blink Dot fell backwards out the opening of the tree house, Sarah on top of her. Dot hit the ground and rolled over the little girl, driving her stake right through the child's heart. She died instantly, as her pretty pink dress turned to dark crimson. We could only stare in shock as Matthew ran away, laughing._

_I tried to spur the Slayer to action. It was too late for Sarah, but we could still make it right if we found Matthew. There would be plenty of time to grieve later. But the poor dear was paralyzed by the realization of her mistake. She wouldn't move. Couldn't even speak. I buried the girl myself in that very yard. I couldn't bring myself to just leave her there. Then I half carried, half dragged the Slayer back to her room. She recovered her mental faculties soon enough, but declared she was done with slaying. She wouldn't risk having another accident on her hands as with little Sarah Shaw. _

_Over the next 7 days, 12 more kids turned up missing. All of them were former classmates and friends of Matthew's. One by one, the beast formerly known as Matthew, went out and collected his friends. Whether he sired them himself, or brought them to his master, I have no way of knowing, and don't especially want to. But one thing is clear. 13 dead children are running around Chicago unchecked while the Slayer sits in her room feeling sorry for herself._

By October of that year, the number of missing Chicagoans had reached staggering proportions, and was no longer limited to children. Police, firemen, teachers and businessmen had also vanished without a trace. The Slayer still refused to do her duty, terrified of making another fatal mistake. Morrigan and Reginald did their best to take up the slack, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. They needed the Slayer. Morrigan was ready to resort to desperate measures to lure Dot from her self-imposed prison. After weeks of hunting, she had finally managed to track one of the newly sired mini-vamps to the basement of a local school, where they had apparently made their nest. There were far too many of them to take them on herself (and it wasn't her place anyway), so she concocted a plan of which the Watcher's Council would be proud.

It took a bit of cajoling on her part, but Morrigan convinced Reginald to go into hiding for a few days without telling the Slayer. Around the third day, she went to tell Dot her Watcher was missing. Naturally, the girl was skeptical and went straight to his apartment to verify his well-being. There, they found the door slightly ajar, and the interior showed signs of a hasty getaway. A full cup of tea sat on his desk, long cold, a half-eaten slice of toast beside it. His weapons chest stood open, its contents strewn about haphazardly, as if Reginald had been searching for something specific, unconcerned about the remainder. On the floor beside the chest, was a crumpled note, written in crayon. The authors, who called themselves The Children of the Night, claimed to have captured the Slayer, and directed Reginald to the basement of the William G. Hibbard Elementary School, if he wanted to see her alive. Too young and inexperienced to question why her Watcher would fall for such an obvious ruse (for why would a group of vampires abduct a Slayer to get to the Watcher?), or to even consider the notion that the trap was for her, Dot grabbed up some weapons of her own and made for the school straight away, Morrigan in tow. Morrigan accompanied her charge as far as the door to the basement, made certain the young Slayer had everything she needed to dispatch a band of fledging vampires, and sent the girl down into the dark, alone. She waited while Dot descended the steps, and when she had reached the bottom, Morrigan locked the door and turned her back, letting the chips fall where they may. Either the Slayer would prevail, and take up the Mantle once more, or she wouldn't. In either case, Morrigan considered it a win for the home team. As callous as it may seem, a Slayer who wouldn't slay was as bad as having no Slayer at all. If the current Slayer (in this case, Dot) refused to do her Duty, then it was time to find someone who would.

Morrigan didn't wait to see whether the Slayer came out on top, but instead returned to the safe house where Reginald was hiding, bringing him up to date on the situation. Together, they went back to his apartment, where they waited "several unbearable hours" for Dot's return. Just when they had both given up hope, and had geared up to investigate the school basement on their own, Morrigan pulled open the door to leave, only to be greeted by a sharp right hook to the jaw, which sent her flying across the room.

_As I struggled to fight off the pain and dizziness, and bring myself to my feet, Dot stalked across the room to where I lay, her eyes blazing with murderous intent. For just a moment, in my disoriented state, I could have sworn her eyes flashed bright red, just for an instant. Of course, it must have been my imagination. Or a trick of the light, perhaps. As she glared down at me, her hands clenched into tight fists, her nostrils flaring like those of a Brahma Bull, I felt certain that my betrayal of her would be the end of me. After all the vampires, monsters, and the like that I'd faced, both alone, and at Dot's side, it was to be the Slayer herself who became my undoing. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. _

_Ultimately, I did neither, as the Slayer turned and advanced on her Watcher, instead. "Did you know about this?" She demanded of the stunned war hero. "Were you a part of it?" Before he could respond, I managed to raise myself onto my elbows and assured her that he did not. I told her that I convinced him his own home was unsafe. After my treachery, I didn't expect her believe, or even listen to a word I had to say. I could only pray, for the sake of everyone, for the sake of the world, that he would back up my lie. He did. From my position on the floor, I watched her eye her mentor warily, searching for any sign that he did not speak the truth. After a few painful seconds, she nodded, apparently satisfied, before turning her attention back to me. She offered her hand, which I gratefully accepted, and hauled me to my feet. She waited, while the wave of dizziness passed, then demanded I leave Reginald's apartment at once. _

Dot went on to tell my second great grandaunt, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted nothing more to do with her, for as long as the both of them lived. Morrigan was heartbroken, but understood, and reluctantly respected the young woman's wishes. What else could she do? Of course, this didn't mean she turned her back on the young warrior. She still patrolled on a nightly basis, maintaining a discreet between herself and Miss Singer, ready to jump into battle or provide emergency medical care if necessary. While Dot may have been justified in severing her ties with Morrigan after her (perceived) betrayal of the girl, that didn't mean that Morrigan no longer felt responsible. If anything, she felt more responsible, as she was no longer able to provide any direct assistance as a result of the rather harsh wake-up call she had arranged for the teen. The least she could do, Morrigan reasoned, was to make herself available if and when the Slayer needed her.

Morrigan needn't have worried, however, as Dot's stint in the basement seemed to have greatly increased her effectiveness as the Slayer. She displayed a renewed sense of focus and determination, the likes of which Morrigan had not before seen in her former friend. Every punch, every kick, every thrust with the stake was delivered with deadly force and precision.

**_1st August, 1916_**

_...She now moves with a predatory grace, her feet scarcely leaving a mark upon the ground on which she walks. The air of confidence surrounding her is almost palpable, and her speed is such that I find I can barely keep up. It's just as well, though, as she is now so keenly aware of her surroundings, that it's a constant challenge to avoid being discovered. There are times when I'm certain she knows I'm there, and simply chooses not to acknowledge me. If I didn't know better, I might mistake her for a vampire, but as I've seen her in daylight, I know that is not the case._

**A Series of Random Events**

**Derailed by Chaos**

Morrigan continued to be haunted by her guilt over trapping her friend in a vampire nest, but she was able to take solace in the fact that it was her scheme that helped make Dot the Slayer she now was. After a few weeks of surreptitiously following the Slayer on her nightly patrols, Morrigan felt comfortable enough to let the girl walk alone, as it was meant to be. While she continued to keep a peripheral eye on Miss Singer's activities, regularly touching base with Mr. Hill, as per her agreement with the Council, she began focusing the bulk of her attention elsewhere.

In this case, "elsewhere" primarily involved renewing her search for Angel. This was no easy task, considering she hadn't had a vision or a relevant dream since leaving New York. With no leads, and the internet still decades away from being invented, Morrigan definitely had her work cut out for her. Nonetheless, given her family's history with Angelus, she felt confident that sooner or later Angel would find her. She just had to be there when he finally showed up. In the meantime she took a job at an all-night diner, reasoning that if there was a new player in town, that would be the most likely place she would hear about it. And should Angel come to town looking for her, that would probably be the first place he'd go. It would only be a matter of time, she thought, she just had to be patient.

A matter of time turned out to be about three years. During that time, Reginald met the love his life, married her, then lost her to the flu, all in the span of a year. Already mentally weakened due to being gassed during World War I, the loss of his beloved nearly pushed him over the edge. Morrigan stayed on at the diner, spending her nights schlepping greasy burgers and fries and pouring infinite cups of barely potable sludge passing for coffee to Chicago's after hours workforce, waiting with growing hopelessness for some sign (a vision, a whisper, anything) that Angel was near. There was none. By June 26, 1919, just four days before Dot's Cruciamentum, she was ready to give up. She had, in fact already packed, and purchased her train ticket, intending to return to New York to start her search from the last place she'd felt his presence. She was two hours into what was to be her last shift at the diner, when she received a surprise visitor.

With the Wartime Prohibition Act due to go into effect in a matter of days, Chicago's streets were becoming more crowded than ever, as the city's alcohol-lovers strove to get as much drinking in while they still could. Besides the drunks, the city's sober (and less well-off) citizens were also out in force, looking to escape the sweltering heat of their air-conditioning deprived apartments. Naturally, wherever there was an abundance of people, there was also an increase in vampire activity, as the undead were always ready to capitalize on an opportunity. In short, Dot was getting overwhelmed. Reginald's mental health had been deteriorating by the day; he suffered from frequent bouts of depression and hallucinations. Dot was finding she could no longer rely on him as a Watcher. She spent more time taking care of him than learning from him. She didn't dare contact The Council, for fear of losing him altogether, and although they had hired a caretaker (in the guise of a butler), he was unaware of the secret world in which Dot and Reginald lived. Dot needed someone who understood the real nature of the things that went bump in the night, someone who could hold their own in battle. She still harbored some animosity towards Morrigan over the incident at the school, but Morrigan was her only hope. Since she had nowhere else to turn, she was willing to let bygones be bygones. Dot's plea for help was all Morrigan needed to hear. With barely a word to her supervisor, she threw her apron on the counter, and followed the Slayer into the night.

**Foolish Angel**

Meanwhile, Angel had left New York, and was currently residing in Euclid, Ohio, a small township about twelve miles northeast of Cleveland. He had been out on one of his nightly walks, and had returned to find his apartment building ablaze. There was no chance that it might be habitable again before sunrise. He turned from the inferno, and began walking in a random direction, while he determined what his next move would be. Lost in thought, he had managed to cover almost the entire distance to Cleveland without noticing. When he finally came out of his thoughts, he found himself on a deserted stretch of road with no shelter in sight. In the east, the sky was already beginning to lighten to the bluish-black hue of pre-dawn. Panic set in as he realized he may have just walked to his death, and he looked around frantically, wondering if the soil was soft enough, and if he had enough time to dig himself underground before the sun completed her ascent.

Deciding he didn't have time to stand around thinking about it, Angel moved off into the field lining the road, got down on all fours, and began to dig as if his life depended on it. In his haste, he failed to notice the tiny farmhouse on the other side of the field, or the stocky woman with the shotgun approaching him from behind, until the muzzle of said shotgun was pressed firmly against his skull. She demanded to know just what it was he thought he was doing, but Angel was so caught off guard, unaccustomed to being snuck up on, that he could only sit there sputtering with his hands above his head, and offer a feeble "I mean you no harm." When Angel failed to come up with a rational explanation for digging a hole in this woman's property, like a dog digging up a bone, the woman made a noise of disgust and withdrew her weapon. Surprising him yet again, she told him, "Come on, then. Let's get you inside before the sun comes up. It's gonna be a scorcher."

Angel felt like a fool not having noticed the farmhouse before he started digging. He could have saved himself a lot of time and stress (not to mention dirty broken fingernails) if he'd simply used his infamous charms to gain access to the house. Then again, he thought, maybe he was better off digging. He couldn't help but notice the way the woman kept her firearm trained on him the entire way to the house. Of course, a bullet wouldn't kill him. Unless it was fired from close range and blew his head off. He became more confused and apprehensive when they veered off about ten yards from the house. When they reached the trapdoor, however, he understood. The woman, who never offered her name (nor did she ask for his), had led him to a storm cellar. She slid open the latch, pulled the door open, then motioned him inside. As he descended the steps, she told him, "It ain't much, but I reckon it'll service your needs." Angel turned to thank her, only to be greeted by the trapdoor slamming down and the latch bolt sliding back into place, effectively locking him in.

Feeling a bit like a rat in a trap, Angel moved farther into the room and took in his surroundings. There was a twin bed adorned with a handmade quilt, a small nightstand with a kerosene lamp and a box of matches, a workbench on which sat an old phonograph, and a shelf lined with various non-perishable food items. He sat on the bed, removed the glass cover from the lamp, lit it with one of the matches, then replaced the cover and looked around some more. Hanging over the bed, right where is head would be if he decided to lie down, was a wooden crucifix. It didn't appear to be hung very securely, so he wrapped his hand in the pillow case, and carefully slid the icon from between the nails holding it in place. He opened the drawer to the nightstand, and was not the least bit surprised to find a Bible in there. He quickly threw the cross inside, and closed the drawer, then merely sat staring towards the steps and the trapdoor beyond.

As he listened to the typical farm sounds above, he contemplated his predicament. He felt certain that the woman, whoever she was, knew what he was and intended to kill him. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why, though. Left to his own devices, he would've been dust soon enough. Why lock him up down here? Was it some new kind of torture? Did she intend to keep him there indefinitely? Would she starve him until he could no longer defend himself, then hand him over to somebody? Could she be in league with the Slayer? Perhaps it was more personal than that. Could he have killed one of her ancestors? It was certainly possible. Whatever her motives, there wasn't much he could do about it, short of killing her, and he wasn't sure he had it in him anymore to kill a human, even to save his life, despite his promise to Annie. He might be able to escape, but that would only get him killed sooner, given the daylight. And that being the case, why had she bothered locking him in at all? Maybe he was just being paranoid. The uncertainty was making his head hurt. Resigned to his presumed fate, he lay down on the bed and awaited the inevitable.

He lay there for what could have been a few minutes or a few hours. He really had no idea, as there was nothing to mark the passage of time. Finally, he heard the "snick" of the latch bolt sliding open. He quickly sat up, and looked to the staircase just as the door opened, letting the sunlight pour down the stairs, coincidentally stopping just shy of where he sat. (_Was_ it a coincidence? He wondered.) His hostess made her way down the steps, pulling the door closed behind her as she went. She had something tucked under arm, but at first Angel couldn't tell what it was. As she reached the bottom, and took whatever it was out from under her arm, Angel realized what she held. In one hand, she held a cross, in the other, a mason jar filled with what he could only assume was blood (as it was sealed he couldn't get a whiff of what was inside). So that answered one question. She definitely knew what he was. But the blood looked off, somehow. Was it poisoned, tainted with Holy Water, perhaps?

She saluted him with the jar by way of greeting, but instead of handing it to him directly, she moved to the workbench and set it there. "It's chicken," she told him apologetically, "but it'll have to do." She glanced up at the wall, where the crucifix had been, pursing her lips in displeasure, but said nothing, and merely turned to head back up the steps. Before she reached the top, Angel couldn't resist asking her why she was helping him. She responded simply, "Because God loves _all_ His children," then turned and exited the cellar, again locking the door behind her.

**_That was a new one. I'd never heard that one before… Or since, actually. But it seemed a bit naïve to me. I worried that kind of thinking would get her killed one day._ **[shrugs]**_ Maybe it did. I never saw her again. And I never found out who she was._**

Satisfied that he wasn't on his death bed, Angel drank his chicken dinner (**_different, sort of a tangy aftertaste_**), then lay down for some much needed rest. He was suddenly exhausted. He awoke, bathed in moonlight, to the sound of crickets, a light breeze ruffling his hair. He had apparently been sleeping so soundly that he hadn't heard his mystery woman open the cellar door, or come in to collect his empty jar, extinguish the lamp and replace the crucifix.

**The Affairs of Men**

Back in Chicago, Reginald had begun the preparations for Dot's Cruciamentum, and while Angel was sleeping the day away in his mystery woman's storm cellar, Dot was receiving the first of three injections she would receive before her eighteenth birthday. The timing could not have been worse. Tensions were on the rise as the beginning of the dry years loomed ever closer, and it seemed inevitable that a war would break out between Prohibition's supporters and opponents. The divide between the "wets" (those against prohibition) and the "drys" (prohibition advocates) had clearly become a racial one. The majority supporting the Act were so-called "natives", those whose ancestry in the United States went back several generations, while most anti-prohibitionists were either immigrants themselves, or were the children of immigrants. Public figures supporting the movement compounded this divide by the use of phrases such as "race degeneracy", and openly suggesting that recent immigrants were a "menace to our institutions". For her part, Dot was determined to do whatever she could to prevent as much bloodshed as possible as the battle over prohibition escalated. Both Morrigan and Reginald tried to impress upon her that this was "man's war", and that the Slayer had no place in it, but Dot argued that it was the Slayer's duty to protect the human race, even if that meant protecting it from itself. She was also quick to point that Reginald had abandoned her to fight in "man's war". At any other time, Morrigan would have fully supported the Slayer's decision, but with the Cruciamentum looming overhead, and Dot already showing signs of weakening, getting involved in the affairs of humans could prove problematic at best. However, once the Slayer made up her mind, there was little anyone could do to change it, so Morrigan had no choice but to go along.

Meanwhile, organized crime was already carving out a niche for itself, smuggling liquor in from Canada, getting set to make a killing when the alcohol ban went into effect. Speaking of killing, crime bosses weren't the only ones making lemonade out of Prohibition's lemons. Vampires were getting into the act, too. While making their rounds the night Angel was released from his earthen prison, Morrigan and Dot came across some suspicious looking characters at the Navy Pier, engaging in some even more suspicious looking activities. At first glance it looked like nothing more than your average everyday smuggling operation, but closer inspection revealed that it was something far more sinister.

**_28th June, 1919_**

_There were two groups of men, there, about half a dozen in each. The first were dressed in casual business attire and were quite well-armed. And well-muscled! The second were smaller and unarmed, and were dressed like boat workers. Sat at their feet were two crates of what was probably liquor of some sort. One of the first group was on his knees inspecting the crates, and when he was finished, he nodded to his associates as he stood, dusting himself off. The leader of the group said something to one of the other men, who then walked back to their car and pulled someone out of the back seat. A woman. She was about my age, or a little older, tall, thin. And terrified. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she had been gagged and blindfolded. Her dress had been torn slightly, probably during a struggle, and the heel of one of her shoes had broken off. I will never understand the women that wear those things. They seem dangerous to me. Not to mention uncomfortable! But I digress. Another man got out of the car and the two men grabbed the girl by each of her arms and led her (or dragged is more like it) back to where the other men waited. One of the boatmen stepped forward and started examining her like you would livestock at the fair. Poking and prodding and such. _

_Dot and I had seen enough. It was clear these men were vampires. Or at least the boatmen were. The gun-toting men were probably human. Vampires don't usually have much use for guns. Dot was ready to rush right in, stakes and fists flying, and it was all I could do to hold her back. Extra caution was needed when guns were involved, even when the Slayer was at her full strength. Which she wasn't. But of course she didn't know that. I convinced her that the wiser course of action was to wait until the men parted ways, then go after the vampires when guns were no longer an issue._

Careful to stay out of sight (which wasn't too difficult under the New Moon) Dot and Morrigan crept quickly and cautiously around the buildings near the entrance to the pier, taking the back way to the vampires' boat. Though there were several private vessels moored at the dock, the girls were able to deduce which was the correct one based on its relative position to the rumrunners. They stole onto the rear of the ship, then made their way forward to where the driver waited for his friends to return. He heard their approach and turned, but Dot made quick work of him anyway, and the pair just managed to hide themselves away as the rest of the vampires boarded the ship. While the rest of the crew went below to stash their prize and celebrate their success, one of them came forward to inform the driver that their business was concluded. Upon realizing his cohort was not at his post, the vampire called out to him and received a stake to the heart from Morrigan in reply.

_...The first two went down so easily, Dot got it in her head to jump right down the hatch to the lower compartment where the rest of the vampires were doing God knows what. "They'll be trapped!" she told me. I pointed out that we'd be trapped also, and that they might hurt the girl, which is what we were trying to avoid. But we had maybe a minute at most to come up with a plan. It wouldn't take them long to realize something was wrong when the boat didn't move. We went to the hatch, and I stood on one side of it, where I would be hidden when it opened. Dot stood on the other side, ducking just out of sight of whoever might come through. I pounded on the hatch and waited for it to open. Our plan had been to wait until he was out, then stake him away from his friends so we didn't draw their attention, but Dot just couldn't resist the easy kill. The second the vampire was halfway out, Dot charged forward with the stake and the dust rained down into the compartment. _

_Then all hell broke loose. Two of them came rushing up the ladder and Dot launched herself at them and all three crashed to the floor. I jumped down after her and landed right on a vamp trying to escape with the girl, who was still tied up, and blindfolded. I thought I heard something pop, probably the girl, as she was flattened by both me and the vampire. It would've been the perfect time to stake the son of a bitch, but I must have lost it in the crash. He bucked me off and I flew right into Dot, who was already giving it her all against two of them. She had apparently already dispatched the remaining one, because he was nowhere to be found. As we struggled to our feet, the one I had first landed on tried again to make off with the girl, and the other two were right behind him. Apparently we didn't warrant the attention. _

_By the time we righted ourselves, they had already reached the ladder. One of them was already at the top and was pushing the girl through, one was halfway up, the last vampire behind him. We rushed the ladder and jerked off the two in the rear. Though I could tell she was getting winded, I let Dot have her way with them, since she seemed to be holding her own just fine, and I wanted to stop the guy with the girl from getting away. He wasn't paying attention to the rest of us, so I climbed up behind and waited until the girl was relatively safe on deck. I hoped she wouldn't try to wander off while she still had the blindfold on. She probably didn't even realize she was on a boat. _

_When only her feet dangled into the compartment, I reached between the vampire's legs and squeezed with all my might. He was still a man, after all, and I figured even the undead would still have certain sensitivities. I was right. He let out a howl the likes of which I'd never heard and lost both his grip and his footing and we both went down. Hard. I was getting tired of this falling down business. This time, when I heard something pop, I knew it was me. I'm definitely going to feel this in the morning! Already am! But on the bright side, I found my stake! Not that I could reach it with it pressed into my back. And it wouldn't do me any good if he got away again. So I wrapped my arms tightly around his middle, which wasn't too hard. He was pretty scrawny for a vampire. Then I rolled us both over, grabbed my stake and drove it home while he was still recovering from having his lemons squeezed. _

_I dusted myself off and looked over to find Dot pinned to the floor by what I assumed was the last of the rum running vampires. The bloodsucker in question was straddling Dot much the same way I had straddled his friend, except that he had both of Dot's legs well immobilized under his, and both of her hands pinned over her head with one of his. The other had a vice-grip around her throat and was choking the life out of her. Fortunately, he didn't notice me coming up behind him, which made it easy for me to stake him in the back. Except that I missed. But it was just the distraction Dot needed to retrieve her stake and hit the mark. That was when she informed me that the last vampire had gotten away. I thought for sure that meant he had taken the girl, but when we reached topside, we heard her crying. She had somehow made it to the railing, but then had either gotten scared, more than she was already, or had simply lost hope. The vampire was nowhere to seen, and we decided it was more important to see to it that she was taken care of than to try to go after him. And neither one of us had anymore fight left in us anyway._

**The Other Hellmouth **

Meanwhile, Angel had uncovered a similar operation in Cleveland, but with no Slayer, it was largely left unchecked. Violent crime had been a part of Cleveland's history almost since the town's inception. Every year the police had to come up with newer and better ways to combat it, and every year the (human) criminal element became smarter, better armed, and more prolific. There were simply far more criminals (especially of the violent variety) than there were officers to arrest them, and that was assuming they could even catch them. The number of cold cases in Cleveland had already reached staggering proportions, even in 1919, and the addition of prominent mob families such as the Porellos, Fazios and the Lonardos, to name but a few, only further ensured that demon element could go about its nightly business without fear of discovery.

As Angel approached what would become known as the "Rock 'N' Roll Capital", he tells me the first thing that struck him was the smell. It was the smell of death, decay, blood, and most prominently, fear. Of course, such odors are bound to permeate any major city, but in Angel's experience, it had never been more palpable than in Cleveland, surpassed only by Beijing during the Boxer Rebellion.

**_It was like walking into a thick fog, and you know it'll swallow you if you keep going. Dru would've called it "intoxicating". And it was. The key word here being "toxic". It would have been easy to let myself get lost in it. A part of me wanted to. I didn't really have a lot going for me in those days. For the most part, I was just… surviving. To just let go and let darkness take me would have been… a relief. But between Annie and Darla, and… everything else. There was just no way I could go back to that. No matter how tempting it was. _**

So Angel pushed on into the city of "progress and prosperity", and stopped at the first hotel he came to. As he approached the front doors, he had to step aside for two officers escorting out a young girl.

**_Mid 20's, brunette, about 5'10". Well, in heels, she was 5'10". She was probably more like 5'8". Pretty… she looked like… well, she looked like exactly the type of girl you'd expect to be escorted by a couple of cops. I didn't really think anything of it, at first. But as they went past me, I knew something was off. Those guys weren't cops any more than I was a priest. And they weren't taking her to no jail cell. At least not one run by the city. _**

He turned and followed them out to their car, which was definitely not a police car. As they loaded their captive into it, she looked up at him, terror-filled eyes pleading for him to help her. Of course, Angel planned on doing just that. There were only a few possible fates they could have had in store for her, and none of them would end with her living happily ever after. Despite the odds, Angel had every confidence that he could put away the two "officers", but first, he had some questions he wanted answered. Why were they posing as cops and pretending to arrest her, instead of just killing her outright? What did they really want her for? Were they acting alone, or did their orders come from a higher authority? The panic wafting off the girl told him she might have some idea. She at least seemed to know they didn't work for the police department, but did she know enough that he could safely kill them without questioning them?

He didn't have time to think about it, or even formulate a plan. They were too busy laughing and joking about what they were going to do her to notice him, so he snuck up close behind them, and the second they had shut the girl safely inside, he gripped each of them firmly about the neck and slammed them against the car. One of them cried out as his shin collided with the running board, while the other one reached for his gun (**_his _****GUN_, for crying out loud! I was insulted_**). Angel smashed gun-boy's head into the window, splintering the glass and stunning him, as he capitalized on Shin-boy with a good solid kick. He was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of bones shattering as leg connected with chrome for the second time. Without a leg to stand on, he hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Angel stamped on his neck, effectively immobilizing him, while he jerked gun-boy back and down by his hair, ramming a knee into his lower back. Meanwhile, Angel's full weight was on potato-boy's neck, crushing it with a loud popping sound. Instead of screaming about his leg hurting, he was now wailing because his leg _didn't_ hurt, nor did anything else, for that matter. There's just no pleasing some people, it seems.

Amazingly, as Angel turned his full attention to gun-boy (who, by this point, had forgotten all about his gun) still tried to maintain the illusion that he was a Cleveland Police Officer, saying that Angel was going to be in "big trouble", and claiming that the girl was "wanted for murder". Angel had to give him points for honesty, for he had no doubt that murder was exactly what they wanted her for, except that in this case, the murder in question was her own. Still gripping him tightly by the scalp, Angel ignored his pathetic ramblings, and dragged him over his buddy to the front door of the car. He pulled open the door with his free hand, then forced the wannabe cop to his knees until his neck rested on the bottom of the door frame. He jammed his foot squarely into the bibbling idiot's back, holding him in place, then began his interrogation, starting with "Who do you work for?" To show he meant business, he then slammed the door on the hapless vampire, decapitating him before he had a chance to answer. Oops.

So he turned to Mr. Dusty's partner. Angel didn't figure the talking head would be overly chatty, but it was worth a shot. There was something going on in this town beyond the ordinary vampire hijinks, and one way or another, Angel was going to find out what. He reopened the car door, then dragged the un-deadhead through his brother's ashes, and arranged him face up in the door frame. Before Angel could get a word in, the immortal quadriplegic taunted him with your typical, "What're ya gonna do, kill me?" Angel assured him that would not be the case. If he failed to answer Angel's questions, Angel would simply leave him to burn when the sun came up. Or better still, leave him in to rot in some abandoned building. Either way, it would be a miserable way to go. On the other hand, if he cooperated, he could die quickly and painlessly.

The head case claimed that he and his partner were just two of a cadre of vampires working for a man known as "Big Joe" Lonardo, who was the current Boss of the Cleveland Mafia, and also a vampire. In anticipation of the Prohibition Act, Big Joe and his brothers had begun supplying corn sugar (a key ingredient in liquor production)to local bootleggers, who in turn shared a portion of their product with the Lonardos with the stipulation that they would not compete in local markets. Hence, half of Big Joe's share of the illegal hooch was stockpiled for the underground nightclub Big Joe planned to open when Prohibition became official. The other half was sold to The Chicago Outfit, which at the time, was run by "Diamond Jim" Colosimo (it would eventually be run by Al Capone).

In lieu of cash, which was of very little use to vampires, Diamond Jim was to pay his debts another way. For every two crates of liquor, The Outfit was to send back one human, between the ages of 18 and 26 (male or female, though it was usually girls), with no friends or family, and no ties to the community- someone that wouldn't be missed. As with the bootlegged liquor, some of the smuggled humans would be kept for Big Joe's private stash, the rest would be put to use either as entertainment or as cuisine when he opened his club. When Angel inquired as to why Big Joe couldn't hunt is own quarry, Headcheese explained that Joe was still trying to keep up the appearance of being a legitimate human businessman. Having his meals delivered from out of state lessened the chance that their disappearances would be traced back to him, should anyone bother to look. Regarding the girl they had "arrested", Angel was told she had arrived with the previous week's shipment, and had somehow managed to escape. Dust Man and Head Boy had been sent to retrieve her and had dressed as cops so as not to arouse suspicion.

Angel kept his promise to the head and sent him off to meet his friend via the car door guillotine, then joined the "fugitive" in the car. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with her, but one thing was certain. She couldn't stay in Cleveland. If she did, then Angel might as well take her to Big Joe, himself. Taking her back to Chicago didn't seem like such a hot idea either. She would probably just get sent right back, and then punished for escaping. That was how Angelus would've dealt with her. He didn't figure a vampire mobster dealing in human trafficking would be any different. On the other hand, if he was to have any hope of stopping this blood-for-booze operation (and he had to try), then he had to go to the source. That meant Chicago. But sunrise was only five hours away, and Chicago was a bit farther than that. How would he explain to the girl that the man who had just rescued her from vampires had to take cover before sunrise because he was a vampire, too? If she had any sense, she'd probably just run away again, and end up right back with Big Joe. No, his only choice was to bring her with, and figure out the rest later. He slid into the driver's seat, and with surprisingly little effort for his first time in a car(and help from Molly the Rescuee), started the engine and set them on the road to the Windy City.

**Road Trip**

**Full Disclosure**

Upon realizing that Angel had never been in a car before, much less driven one, Molly offered to take the wheel to avoid a potential wreck. Needing the distraction, Angel refused. It had been quite a while since Angel had been in close proximity to humans for any length of time, and he hadn't exactly been taking proper care of himself since Annie left him to be with her father. He worried that without something else to focus on, he might lose control all over Molly. After all, she would've been dead anyway if Angel hadn't come along. It wasn't as if anyone would miss her. That's what Angelus tried to tell him, anyway, but Angel knew better. _He_ would miss her. He'd never be able to live with himself if he gave in to Angelus' prodding.

They drove in silence, and Angel tried to forget Molly was there, while at the same time trying to decide what he was going to do with her. Of course, Angelus had a few ideas he was all too willing to share with his soulful alter ego, but Angel did his best to ignore them while he focused on his driving. After a few miles, Molly tried to make small talk, but Angel was so busy with the focusing, forgetting and ignoring, as well as the internal monologue, that he didn't really hear her until she overheard him telling Angelus to shut up. He wasn't even aware of having spoken aloud until she responded hurt, and slumped down in her seat. While Angelus rejoiced at having been able to inflict even the smallest bit of damage, Angel quickly apologized and prepared to lay all his cards on the table. It was the first time he'd discussed his past with someone who didn't already know it.

_**I didn't even know what I was going to say until I said it. It was like… it had been so long since I talked to anybody, that when I opened my mouth, it just all came pouring out. I told her everything, Rowynne. What I was, what I used to be, the things I'd done- Well, some of the things I'd done. And I told her about the curse, and how the demon was still in there trying to get me to do things… I even told her how just having her there in the car was driving me insane and that I wasn't sure if she was any better off with me than she would've been with Big Joe and that that was why I didn't want her drive. So I wouldn't have to think about it… And she just sat there… Just took it all in and didn't say a word… I wanted to stop the car and grab her by the shoulders and shake her.** _[demonstrates]**_ "PLEASE! Say something! Anything!" But I didn't, because I knew what would happen if I did, and it wouldn't be anything good. Instead, I told her that I didn't think it was safe for her on the streets, but that if she didn't want to ride with me anymore, I'd understand, and I'd drop her off anywhere she wanted to go. And she still didn't say anything for the longest time, but I could see her looking at me out of the corner of my eye. Trying to decide whether she should trust me, I guess. Finally, she turns and stares out the window and it was almost like she was talking to herself. She said, "Well, I had wanted to see Chicago." _**

They drove the rest of the night only stopping twice: once for fuel, and once for food. Molly offered to help Angel out in that regard, but as tempting as it was, he politely but firmly refused. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop once he started, and he knew how addictive it could be, for both of them. Instead, they kept the conversation on more neutral topics. She told him about her life, and the circumstances that had led to her being kidnapped in Chicago (she was a farm girl from Northern Idaho that wanted to see the world). He told her about the things he'd seen and done during his very long life, sans the rape and the murder, of course. She was fascinated by the notion that even when he was evil, he liked Shakespeare and cried at the ballet. He teased her that she had obviously never read Shakespeare, or she wouldn't be so surprised.

**Cold Sweats and Hunger Pangs **

After driving through miles and miles of nothing, just when Angel had resigned himself to hiding in the trunk, they finally came to a modest hotel in Westville, Indiana, about thirty minutes before sunrise, and two hours from Chicago. After some discussion about who would sleep in the bed, and who would take the floor, Molly insisted that Angel take the bed. He was the one who had been driving all night and he deserved it. Molly had dozed in the car, and didn't expect to sleep much anyway. Angel thanked her as he lay down, and was fast asleep before he could finish his final attempt at chivalry.

Meanwhile, just as Angel was losing consciousness, Morrigan awoke suddenly, bathed in a cold sweat, but with no idea why. Her heart was pounding, but she didn't feel particularly frightened, as she would if she had awakened from a nightmare. She sat up in bed and listened carefully for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Birds sang in the tree outside her window, tweeting about their day's plans. Her clock ticked away the seconds the same as it always did. Out on the street, a car passed by in no particular hurry. She got up, and did a cursory sweep of her apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. She went next door to Dot's apartment, thinking perhaps it was a Slayer-related issue that had awakened her. Dot came to the door, rumpled from sleep, and worn out from the previous night's activities, but otherwise well, apart from feeling under the weather(due to the Cruciamentum drugs). Morrigan apologized for disturbing the poor girl, and returned to her apartment. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was that had pulled her from such a sound sleep, so after logging the episode in her journal, she crawled into bed and went back to sleep.

Around noon that day, Angel experienced a sudden wakefulness of his own, but unlike Morrigan, he knew exactly what it was that had awakened him. He had a bad dream, or as Angel describes it, it was a good dream gone bad, or a bad dream that felt good at the time. It left him feeling panic-stricken and confused, and most of all hungry.

**_Thank goodness I woke up alone. Molly was in the bathroom. Otherwise… I don't know. I could still taste the blood. But it wasn't my usual killing dream, like the ones I have every night._** [looks at me]**_ Yeah. Every night. Or, almost every night. I hate having them…_ **[off my look]**_ Ok, no. I don't. Not at the time, at least. But I hate that I have them, and I wish I didn't, but I do. I think it's because, when I'm asleep, that's when Angelus takes over. They're his dreams, not mine. But this was different… I still felt like myself, but… free-er, somehow. _**

He stops for a moment, gauging my reaction. He knows how I can get when he talks about the liberating nature of soullessness, or the oppression that comes with having a soul. In 2004, however, since I had no soul of my own, I could better understand where he was coming from. I let him continue without interruption.

**_The soul was there, but it wasn't weighing me down like it does when I'm awake. I wasn't thinking about the what-if's and the if-only's. I wasn't burdened with regrets. It was just me, and her. And it was so vivid… _**

He leans back against the black leather of his sofa, in the apartment adjoining his office, and closes his eyes. It's as if he were reliving an actual event, rather than recalling a dream. He inhales deeply and continues.

**_And her skin was so soft, and warm… and I could feel her breath on my cheek… Her heartbeat… If I didn't know better, I would've thought it was mine. And she smelled so… _**

Angel trails off, lost in the memory, as he lightly runs his tongue along his top teeth, likely unaware that he's doing it. He doesn't change, but I can see his true face bubbling just below the surface. Since he'd agreed to take over Wolfram & Hart, we had all had concerns as to whether he could mentally handle not only the day-to-day stress of running such a large corporation, but also the ever expanding grey areas he found himself confronting. He'd had such high hopes in the beginning. He was going to turn the company on its head, destroy it from the inside out. But as time wore on, it seemed he was having to make pacts with more devils, of increasing degrees of evilness, just to do the tiniest bit of good.

In the past weeks, he had had to concede to the possibility that it was Spike, and not himself, who was destined to one day become human. He had been told that Buffy and company no longer trusted him because of his associations with the evil law firm. Cordelia had appeared to miraculously awaken from a mystical coma, only to be taken from him again almost immediately. Then, as if his outlook wasn't already bleak enough, he lost two of his lieutenants (Fred and Gunn)in short succession. The only highlight had been recently reconnecting with his son, and finding him to be happy, healthy and well-adjusted, but even that had been bittersweet. Every day we wondered if that would be the day he threw in the towel. Even Kes and I, who knew and understood the true motives behind some of his questionable actions, worried if he might be headed towards a full psychotic break.

As he sat there, absorbed in the past, seemingly no longer aware that I was even there, I wondered if this was the moment we had all been dreading. I was about to say something to bring him back to the present, when he finally opened his eyes and spoke.

**_It was one of the few times I can remember really being at peace…_ **[looks at me]**_ Not 'perfect happiness'_ **[makes air quotes]**_, mind you, but I just felt… like I was home…_**[looks away at some distant point only he can see]**_ But then it all changed, and…_ **[frowns]**_ I bit her._ **[looks at me, briefly]**_ I don't know if I killed her, because I woke up. But it felt like I might have. And I was so hungry… I guess I must've called out- though I don't remember it- because then Molly came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I guess she'd been taking a bath. She was all wet, and drippy, and she looked really…_ **[looks at me, regaining focus]**_… She said I called her Morrigan. Not that I was really listening to her. I was sort of preoccupied. _**

Angel decided it wasn't safe for Molly to stay there while he slept. His dream had left him feeling out of sorts, and not fully in control of himself. He feared that had she been closer to him, perhaps in the bed with him, when he awoke, he might have done something she wouldn't live to regret, in the few seconds it took him to adjust to reality. He was unwilling to take that risk, so he sent her out for the rest of the day. He knew none of Big Joe's men would be looking for her in the day, even if they had managed to somehow track them to Westville, which he didn't think was very likely. He gave her some money to eat with, or grab a drink, telling her to return at sunset.

Meanwhile, 65 miles away, Morrigan sat bolt upright in bed for the second time that day. This time, however, she knew exactly what it was that had awakened her.

_**29th June, 1919**_

_… He's here. I can feel it. Or, if he's not yet, he soon will be. I know I've said that before, but it's different this time. This isn't just some vague feeling or a hunch, or even wishful thinking. It's like a physical presence. Like how you know someone's watching you from behind. If I didn't know better, I might think he was here in my apartment. I'm almost tempted to check my closet, or under the bed. That's how strongly I feel his presence. Of course that's silly. He's not here. But he's close. And he needs me. I can hear him calling me. I will find him this time. Whatever it takes, I will be there for him._

**Temptation Waits**

Angel didn't remember having any other dreams like the doozy he had had earlier that day, but he was still reeling from its effects, as he and Molly drove the two-hour trek into Chicago. He wouldn't have thought it possible before, but he was now even more sensitive to Molly's proximity to him, than he was when he'd first picked her up. The steady thud of her heartbeat, and the roar of her blood rushing through her veins like a mighty river were enough by themselves to drive him to the brink of madness. And although Molly apparently still trusted him enough to have returned just a few minutes before sunset, she had been eyeing him apprehensively the entire trip. The scent of her fear, though faint, teased his demon the way the aromas from a bakery tease passersby. It didn't help matters any that he had not drunk so much as a drop of blood since the chicken blood two days prior. He inwardly cursed himself for ignoring his needs this long, even though he knew his options had been limited since he left the farm. Angelus, of course, was all too happy to point out that he had had an option, but had stubbornly refused to take it. Angel acknowledged that that was true, as he stole a glance at Molly in the passenger seat. She caught him looking, and opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to renew her offer, but he didn't give her the chance, and quickly returned his attention to the road, angry that he had been tempted even for a second. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, telling himself he just had to hold out a little longer. Everything would be fine once they reached Chicago. He didn't know how he knew this, or why Chicago should be any different. He just knew it would be.

**_I had no reason to hope_ **[Morrigan]**_ would be waiting for me in Chicago. I mean, America was a big place, even then, and as far as I knew, she was still somewhere in Europe. Hell, I wasn't even sure she knew about me, and even if she did, after everything I've done, I didn't expect she'd want anything to do with me._**

That said, Angel admits that he had no plan as to what he would do once he and Molly arrived in Chicago. He certainly didn't expect Molly would be any safer there, than in Cleveland, and he knew it was unlikely he'd be able to anything, on his own, to slow the booze-for-blood trade. He says it was as if some force greater than himself had put the thought in his head that Chicago was the place to be. He denies drawing any connection between his dream and his proximity to Chicago, until after the fact, but says that upon their arrival in the city just after midnight, an overwhelming sensation forced him to pull to the side of the road lest he crash the car. He compared it to being wrapped in a warm blanket and getting carried away. This may seem like a pleasant enough sensation on its own, quite comforting in fact. But it brought with it flashbacks of his dream and all the feelings that went along with it. It left him almost completely unable to cope.

He took a moment or two to collect himself, ignoring Molly's concerned inquiries, then got out of the car. He was so distracted by whatever it was that impelled him forward, that he neither noticed nor cared whether Molly followed, having temporarily forgotten his original purpose for coming. It wasn't until she caught up with him a few yards from the car that he realized his oversight, and silently cursed his negligence. He grabbed her by the arm to prevent a similar mistake, and continued along the path destiny seemed to want him to take. He still refused to answer any of Molly's questions, mostly because he didn't know the answers, himself. He had no idea where they were going, or what they were going to do once they got there. He wasn't even certain he could stave off his hunger, which was growing stronger by the minute, long enough to reach their destination, wherever that happened to be.

**_As it was, it was taking all of my concentration not to take her up on her offer, whether or not it was still good, and her incessant yapping wasn't helping any. _**

He looked at me apologetically, as shocked as I was at his choice of words. The stress of the coming battle against the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, and the events leading up to it, were clearly taking their toll on him. I didn't know whether I wanted to hug him, or smack him and snap him out of it somehow.

[sighs]**_ I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But at the time… you gotta understand where I was back then. It was like being a fledgling all over again. I'm sure you can relate… _**

I could, to an extent. I was fresh out of the grave (Figuratively speaking. I was never actually buried.) when I went on the run with Buffy and The Scoobies when Glory was after Dawn. Even though they were my friends, and I knew the end of any of them would mean the end of the world, I wanted nothing more than to rip their throats out and bathe in their blood. It was like being trapped in a McDonald's and not allowed to have even a single french fry. But as soon as I was able to dine elsewhere, I had no qualms about doing so, and still don't. I don't have moral quandaries that come with having a soul. If I'm hungry, I eat. Simple as that. So in that sense, I couldn't relate at all. But yes, I understood what Angel had gone through back then.

**_I kept thinking that Molly had been chosen because she wouldn't be missed. Nobody would ever know. And if I somehow managed to stop the blood trade… then it would all balance out. Or… that's what Angelus wanted me to think. I knew better, but still… It was hard, y'know… I must've grabbed her pretty hard. I noticed marks, after. She might have said something, too. I'm not really sure. I don't really remember much before we got to the diner. I was basically running on autopilot. _**

**Morrigan and Angel**

Angel acknowledged that he was probably rougher with Molly than he needed to be. Upon their arrival at the diner, Angel hurled her through the open door and shoved her towards the counter, ordering her to get some food. He barely noticed the look of hurt in her eyes, as if he'd just kicked her puppy.

**_All I saw was her. Morrigan, I mean. She'd been waiting for me. I don't know how I even knew it was her… But I knew. Same way I knew to go there in the first place, I guess. But it was like the whole world melted away. I forgot about everything… Molly, the bloodrunners, all of it. In that moment, as she walked towards me, it was like nothing else mattered. Just her. _**

The next thing Angel knew, they were locked in a tight embrace, devouring each other like it was the end of the world. It seemed as though they had always been together and existed only for the betterment and well-being of the other. Morrigan's heart beat against Angel's chest as if it were his own. Her breath flowed into him as if it might grant him new life. The sound of her pulse in his ears was like a great waterfall surrounding him, bathing him in warmth and peace. The multitude of emotions passing between them was overpowering, and Angel felt his features transform as his bloodlust reasserted itself. He broke off the kiss, afraid of adding one more death to his very long list of regrets, but Morrigan refused to let go. She was more concerned that Angel would blow his cover, than she was for her own welfare. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and turned their bodies so that his face was concealed from potential onlookers. He tried to tell her that he wasn't doing so well and didn't feel safe to be around, but she continued to hold him, stroking his hair and whispering soothingly like you would frightened puppy or small child.

When at last he brought himself under control, Morrigan finally released him. Introductions were made, and after making sure they wouldn't be overheard by the restaurant staff, Angel got to the meat of why they were there. Morrigan quickly realized that the two of them had already been working the same case. While Molly ate the food she had ordered, Angel and Morrigan exchanged the limited information each had on the booze-for-blood trade. Morrigan explained that while she understood the urgency of the situation, any action would have to be postponed for a later date. The Slayer would be out of commission for a few more days due to her Cruciamentum, assuming she survived, and Morrigan's top priority at the moment was Angel, who had clearly not been taking care of himself. Her mother would be pissed if she knew.

After Molly finished her meal, the threesome began the four-and-a-half block walk back to Angel's car. Molly walked between them, as they each kept a firm grasp on Molly's arm. She had been originally taken by The Outfit, so it was not out of the realm of possibility that she might be recognized, and that someone might try to reclaim her. If the three of them had to travel on foot, this was the safest way to do so, but Angel and Morrigan knew full well that Molly's safety was still not guaranteed as long as they were on the street. If they were attacked and forced to relinquish their hold on her, it would be quite easy for anyone, demon or human, to recapture her in the confusion. To prevent this from happening, Molly was instructed to keep her head down, her hair covering her face. They moved quickly, Molly allowing herself to be half dragged, half carried, as if she were drunk, and they soon reached the vehicle without incident. After loading Molly into the car, Morrigan immediately removed the license plates, chastising Angel for not having already thought to do it himself.

She thought we might've been followed. That Big Joe could've put the word out that Molly was missing, given a description of the car. She said I may as well have put a sign on the car saying, "HERE WE ARE!" I had to admit she was probably right. I should've thought of that. If it had happened today, I would have. I wasn't thinking too clearly back then. Especially that day.

Once the business of the license plates was taken care of, Morrigan hopped into the driver's seat, much to Angel's chagrin. As he voiced his dissent, Morrigan explained that it would be easier for her to drive to their destination than to try to direct him. He tried to argue with her, explaining once again that he needed something to focus on other than his bloodlust, but Morrigan responded with what Angel called "an epic eye roll", and scolded him for letting himself get to that point. She chided him for thinking he could literally drive away his troubles, and pointed out that he would eventually have to find another way to cope.

Again, Angel knew she was right, but as he reluctantly handed over the key, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the best time to test his resolve. He had never had much resolve to begin with, and it had been faltering by the minute. Angel sat rigidly in his seat as they pulled away from the curb, his fists clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. His nails dug into his palms, and as the scent of his own blood assaulted his nostrils, he thought for sure he wouldn't be able to last. It may have only been vampire blood, and his own at that, but it was still blood. It reminded him of what he'd been without for days, what he still needed and couldn't have. It was maddening. Had he been alone, he might have tried to stave off his hunger by licking his own hands (though it likely would have only compounded the problem), but his pride wouldn't let him be seen that way. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, and tried to focus on his self-inflicted pain, rather than the demon screaming in his head to feed, kill and be sated.

Despite her ribbing, and her scolding Morrigan knew that Angel was downplaying his distress, even while it seemed he was doing just the opposite. She felt it the instant he set foot in the diner, before she even looked up and saw him. To be honest, she had felt it before he had arrived in town, but whereas it had been just a feeling before, it was now almost palpable. The weight of his suffering pressed in on her as if it were her own, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and ease his pain any way she could. For the moment, however, that would have to wait. She had to concentrate on her driving, and while having a witness might be prudent, she didn't think Molly was the ideal candidate. While she may have known, and thought she understood what Angel was, knowing and seeing were two quite different things. Morrigan thought it best to wait until they had dropped Molly off with Reginald on the Gold Coast.

Meanwhile, she would try to soothe the savage beast in other ways. She waited until she had turned onto a straightaway, requiring less focus or active driving, then turned to Angel and beckoned him to slide closer to her across the seat. He eyed her quizzically, but obeyed without question, taking her hand in his when she offered it. At first, he thought she meant for him to feed. Annie had always given him her arm, so it seemed like a perfectly logical conclusion, especially while his logic was primarily being ruled by hunger. He started to dip his head to do just that, but before his face even began to change, she squeezed his hand firmly and forced both their hands down into his lap, surprising him with her strength. A low growl erupted, unbidden, within him but Morrigan either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. In French (for Molly's benefit, Angel assumed), she told him, "Not now" and instructed him to close his eyes, then to squeeze her hand. He did, and he was sure it was hard enough to crush her bones, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she maneuvered her hand through his until it was her forearm held within his vice-like grip. Her hand found its way to his thigh, giving him a gentle squeeze, her fingers softly kneading his flesh as they continued their journey upwards. As they tap-danced their way up his leg, teasing as they went, Angel wondered briefly if it wasn't his own hand, still firmly wrapped around her wrist, subconsciously guiding her against her will. That fear was quickly put to rest, however, as he reminded himself that it was her arm encased within his grasp, and not her hand, which sashayed about his lap quite freely, applying light pressure in all the right places.

Angel found it difficult to explain, in any cohesive manor, the chaos of his thoughts during those five minutes before Morrigan pulled into the driveway of Reginald's lavish estate. On the one hand, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the ride, so to speak. He could not remember that last time he had been touched that way, by a hand other than his own, that was. Annie certainly hadn't. She would've killed them both before even considering such a thing. And Darla, well Darla had always been about Darla, not likely do anything that didn't benefit her in some way. Anyone else there might have been would have either been paid or threatened. This was different, and wonderful, and he didn't want it to end. On the other hand, this was Morrigan. He had watched her being born. He had cradled her in his arms and sang to her before The Council had taken her away. He had named her, for crying out loud! These weren't exactly the sort of thoughts one wanted to have while getting a road-handy, especially when considering all the other thoughts they brought up, i.e., images of his past victims and what he did to them. None of these did a thing to impede his enjoyment, which only added to his inner turmoil. His heart, if it could beat, would have been pounding in his chest like a jackhammer.

Morrigan's heart, in the meantime, beat plenty for the both of them, thundering in his ears like a locomotive. His hunger rose proportionally to his, well, _hunger_, and he found himself wondering where and how Morrigan and learned to manipulate him so expertly. He was certain he was the only one she had ever done this for. She was so young, he didn't think it was even remotely possible that she had had prior experience in such matters. He would know, wouldn't he? Some things you can just smell. It's like a sixth sense. Could she be reading his mind? No, that was impossible. Just a minute ago, he had been thinking about the ripping of throats, not anything else, and certainly not this. Now, of course, he could think of nothing _but_ this. Even his profound bloodlust, which had been all consuming for most the past twelve hours or so, had now taken a backseat to this new sensation. His grip on Morrigan's arm tightened, and the faint scent of her blood tickled his nose as his nails dug into her like they had dug into his own palms just moments ago. A ripping sound from his other side alerted him the fact that he had also torn through the car's upholstery, in his effort to maintain his composure, but at this point, he didn't care. One more minute and some torn upholstery would be the least of his worries, as he found himself with a very embarrassing situation on his hands. A part of him didn't care much about that, either. He was suddenly and crudely brought back down to earth by the sound of the car door slamming. Morrigan poked her head in through the window, a sly grin playing across her lips, and asked if he was going to be all right while she took Molly inside and briefed Reginald on the situation with the bloodrunners. Angel wasn't sure "all right" was the right term, but told her he would manage. She reached in and gave him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder before escorting Molly inside.

While she was gone, Angel pondered what had just happened. Did anything happen? Had it all been a figment of his imagination, an hallucination brought on a prolonged lack of sustenance? That didn't seem right. He gone without blood for much longer before, and had never experienced anything like that. Although, that certainly made more sense than a virgin having the power to send him to the moon with an over-the-pants hand-job. Then again, Annie had on occasion, done just that without ever touching him; after she had discovered her telekinesis, she had adored teasing him with it. But then, Annie was no virgin. All this mental back-and-forth was getting him nowhere. He had to find out for sure if it had really happened, or if he had just embarrassed himself in a really bad way. He supposed he could just wait for Morrigan to return, and ask her, but what would he say? And if it _had_ all been in his head, wouldn't he just be humiliating himself more than he possibly already had? No, that wouldn't do at all. He had to find the answer for himself. He adjusted himself in his seat, painfully aware that his pants had become a bit tighter than normal, and tried to recreate the exact position he had been sitting in. He felt under the edge of the seat, where his right hand would have been, and sure enough, found finger-shaped gouges in the material. That told him nothing. He felt around where his left hand might have left the same marks, and found nothing. Still, this wasn't conclusive. It just meant his left hand was busy, which didn't exactly refute the theory that it was all a hallucination, except that Angel is right handed. He absentmindedly rubbed his hands along his thighs as he pondered how else he might find definitive answers, and discovered his right leg was moist with blood. Further investigation proved it to be hers, from when he had clawed her arm. A glance at his fingernails revealed bits of flesh and yet more blood. How had he missed that? He supposed it was just further evidence of his recent mental state. For the moment, though, he felt surprisingly calm, now that he knew he probably didn't just go into a trance and masturbate in front of two young girls.


	26. Morrigan and Angel

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Morrigan and Angel**

**Morrigan Lends a Hand**

Angel acknowledged that he was probably rougher with Molly than he needed to be. Upon their arrival at the diner, Angel hurled her through the open door and shoved her towards the counter, ordering her to get some food. He barely noticed the look of hurt in her eyes, as if he'd just kicked her puppy.

_**All I saw was her. Morrigan, I mean. She'd been waiting for me. I don't know how I even knew it was her… But I **_**knew**_**. Same way I knew to go there in the first place, I guess. But it was like the whole world melted away. I forgot about everything… Molly, the bloodrunners, all of it. In that moment, as she walked towards me, it was like nothing else mattered. Just her.**_

The next thing Angel knew, they were locked in a tight embrace, devouring each other like it was the end of the world. It seemed as though they had always been together and existed only for the betterment and well-being of the other. Morrigan's heart beat against Angel's chest as if it were his own. Her breath flowed into him as if it might grant him new life. The sound of her pulse in his ears was like a great waterfall surrounding him, bathing him in warmth and peace. The multitude of emotions passing between them was overpowering, and Angel felt his features transform as his bloodlust reasserted itself. He broke off the kiss, afraid of adding one more death to his very long list of regrets, but Morrigan refused to let go. She was more concerned that Angel would blow his cover, than she was for her own welfare. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and turned their bodies so that his face was concealed from potential onlookers. He tried to tell her that he wasn't doing so well and didn't feel safe to be around, but she continued to hold him, stroking his hair and whispering soothingly like you would frightened puppy or small child.

When at last he brought himself under control, Morrigan finally released him. Introductions were made, and after making sure they wouldn't be overheard by the restaurant staff, Angel got to the meat of why they were there. Morrigan quickly realized that the two of them had already been working the same case. While Molly ate the food she had ordered, Angel and Morrigan exchanged the limited information each had on the booze-for-blood trade. Morrigan explained that while she understood the urgency of the situation, any action would have to be postponed for a later date. The Slayer would be out of commission for a few more days due to her Cruciamentum, assuming she survived, and Morrigan's top priority at the moment was Angel, who had clearly not been taking care of himself. Her mother would be pissed if she knew.

After Molly finished her meal, the threesome began the four-and-a-half block walk back to Angel's car. Molly walked between them, as they each kept a firm grasp on Molly's arm. She had been originally taken by The Outfit, so it was not out of the realm of possibility that she might be recognized, and that someone might try to reclaim her. If the three of them had to travel on foot, this was the safest way to do so, but Angel and Morrigan knew full well that Molly's safety was still not guaranteed as long as they were on the street. If they were attacked and forced to relinquish their hold on her, it would be quite easy for anyone, demon or human, to recapture her in the confusion. To prevent this from happening, Molly was instructed to keep her head down, her hair covering her face. They moved quickly, Molly allowing herself to be half dragged, half carried, as if she were drunk, and they soon reached the vehicle without incident. After loading Molly into the car, Morrigan immediately removed the license plates, chastising Angel for not having already thought to do it himself.

_**She thought we might've been followed. That Big Joe could've put the word out that Molly was missing, given a description of the car. She said I may as well have put a sign on the car saying, "HERE WE ARE!" I had to admit she was probably right. I should've thought of that. If it had happened today, I would have. I wasn't thinking too clearly back then. Especially that day.**_

Once the business of the license plates was taken care of, Morrigan hopped into the driver's seat, much to Angel's chagrin. As he voiced his dissent, Morrigan explained that it would be easier for her to drive to their destination than to try to direct him. He tried to argue with her, explaining once again that he needed something to focus on other than his bloodlust, but Morrigan responded with what Angel called "an epic eye roll", and scolded him for letting himself get to that point. She chided him for thinking he could literally drive away his troubles, and pointed out that he would eventually have to find another way to cope.

Again, Angel knew she was right, but as he reluctantly handed over the key, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the best time to test his resolve. He had never had much resolve to begin with, and it had been faltering by the minute. Angel sat rigidly in his seat as they pulled away from the curb, his fists clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. His nails dug into his palms, and as the scent of his own blood assaulted his nostrils, he thought for sure he wouldn't be able to last. It may have only been vampire blood, and his own at that, but it was still blood. It reminded him of what he'd been without for days, what he still needed and couldn't have. It was maddening. Had he been alone, he might have tried to stave off his hunger by licking his own hands (though it likely would have only compounded the problem), but his pride wouldn't let him be seen that way. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, and tried to focus on his self-inflicted pain, rather than the demon screaming in his head to feed, kill and be sated.

Despite her ribbing, and her scolding Morrigan knew that Angel was downplaying his distress, even while it seemed he was doing just the opposite. She felt it the instant he set foot in the diner, before she even looked up and saw him. To be honest, she had felt it before he had arrived in town, but whereas it had been just a feeling before, it was now almost palpable. The weight of his suffering pressed in on her as if it were her own, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and ease his pain any way she could. For the moment, however, that would have to wait. She had to concentrate on her driving, and while having a witness might be prudent, she didn't think Molly was the ideal candidate. While she may have known, and thought she understood what Angel was, knowing and seeing were two quite different things. Morrigan thought it best to wait until they had dropped Molly off with Reginald on the Gold Coast.

Meanwhile, she would try to soothe the savage beast in other ways. She waited until she had turned onto a straightaway, requiring less focus or active driving, then turned to Angel and beckoned him to slide closer to her across the seat. He eyed her quizzically, but obeyed without question, taking her hand in his when she offered it. Annie had always given him her arm to feed from, so to his hunger-addled mind, it seemed perfectly logical to assume that Morrigan had the same intent. He started to dip his head for just that reason, but before his face even began to change, she squeezed his hand firmly and forced both their hands down into his lap, surprising him with her strength. A low growl erupted, unbidden, within him but Morrigan either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. "Not now," she told him, then instructed him to close his eyes, and squeeze her hand. He did, and he was sure it was hard enough to crush her bones, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she maneuvered her hand through his until he held her forearm within his vice-like grip. Her hand found its way to his thigh, giving him a gentle squeeze, her fingers softly kneading his flesh as they continued their journey upwards. Angel wondered briefly if it wasn't his own hand, still firmly gripping her just above the wrist, subconsciously guiding her against her will. That fear was quickly put to rest, however, as hand moved about his lap quite freely, applying light pressure in all the right places.

All cohesive thought left him when he felt her fingers grasp his zipper, lowering it quietly. On the one hand, he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the ride, so to speak. He could not remember that last time he had been touched that way, by a hand other than his own. He looked long at her, but her eyes never left the road, her hand acting of its own will as it slid into his pants, freeing him. His treacherous mind insisted on reminding him that this was Annie's daughter. He had watched her being born. He had cradled her in his arms and sang to her before The Council had taken her away. He had named her, for crying out loud! He should be putting a stop to this, not enjoying it, but he continued to watch her face, unchanged, as he swelled in her grip. Fighting for control, he tightened his grip on her arm, his nails digging into her flesh like talons. The scent of her blood tickled his nose, reigniting his bloodlust, and he lost all conscious thought, aware of nothing but the feel of her hand on him. His eyes slid over her body, taking her in, before finally letting himself get lost in the warmth of her touch, and the shifting pressure that would have made his heart race if it could have. His whole body went rigid, as her hand continued gliding over his flesh. He was fully aroused, aching from hunger and desire. Morrigan held loosely to the steering wheel with one hand, while the other moved smoothly and rhythmically, rising and falling from his lap in a distinct motion that brought him to pleasure well before he expected it. Clenching his jaw, he repressed the sounds trying to escape. Her hand contained him, and he began to relax, a gentle euphoria settling over him.

She deftly helped tuck him back into his pants, then wiped her hand on a handkerchief from the dashboard, tossing it to the floorboard, before returning her hand to the wheel. As he attempted to pull himself together, he found himself wondering where and how Morrigan and learned to manipulate him so expertly. He was certain he was the only one she had ever done this for. She was so young, he didn't think it was even remotely possible that she had had prior experience in such matters. He would know, wouldn't he? Some things you can just smell. It's like a sixth sense. Could she have read his mind? No, that was impossible. Before she had touched him, he had been thinking about the ripping of throats, nothing more. Before he could question it further, he was suddenly and crudely brought back down to earth by the sound of the car door slamming. Morrigan poked her head in through the window, a sly grin playing across her lips, and asked if he was going to be all right while she took Molly inside and briefed Reginald on the situation with the bloodrunners. Angel wasn't sure "all right" was the right term, but told her he would manage. She reached in and gave him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder before escorting Molly inside Reginald Hill's lavish home.

While she was gone, Angel pondered what had just happened. Did anything happen? Had it all been a figment of his imagination, an hallucination brought on by malnourishment? That didn't seem right. He gone without blood for much longer before, and had never experienced anything like that. Although, that certainly made more sense than a virgin having the power to send him to the moon in under five minutes. Then again, after she had discovered her telekinesis, Annie had on occasion, done just that. She would have killed them both before she would ever touch him, but she had adored teasing him. He doubted that was the case here, but he was far from certain whether any of what he'd just experienced had actually happened, or if he had just embarrassed himself in a really bad way. He highly suspected it was the latter, and hoped for the sake of his dignity that it really was all in his head. When he caught sight of the hanky on the floor by his feet, that hope was dashed all to hell. He remembered Morrigan grabbing it off the dash, then tossing it across the car, but his brain was in such a fog, he couldn't remember the middle part. Had she used it herself and discarded it, or had she tossed it to him to use?

This train of thought was getting him nowhere except a one-way ticket to Crazy Town. He should just ask Morrigan when she came back, but what would he say? If it had all been in his head, wouldn't he just be humiliating himself worse than he possibly already had? That wouldn't do at all. Somehow, he had to find the truth for himself. He adjusted himself in his seat, and absentmindedly rubbed his hands along his thighs wondering how else he might get his answers. His right leg was damp, the familiar scent telling him it was blood. Specifically, it was _her_ blood, likely from when he had clawed her arm. How had he missed that? He supposed it was just further evidence of his recent mental state. He brought his fingers to his lips for a quick taste, and caught a glimpse of his fingernails. Beneath them he found tiny bits of flesh and yet more blood. In any other circumstance, he might have found this alarming, but for the moment, he just felt relieved, as he took it as evidence that he probably hadn't just gone into a trance and masturbated in front of two young girls.

As he sat there contemplating the drying bits of Morrigan under his nails, the rest of her startled him for the second time that night, when she stuck her head in the passenger side window to ask how he was doing. How did she keep doing that? He may have had a soul, now, but he was still a vampire for Pete's sake—a predator. Humans weren't supposed to sneak up on him. He snuck up on them. He used to anyway. He chalked it up to being distracted, not in his right mind. He was malnourished, that was all. He vowed to do something about it as soon as he was able. For now, he assured Morrigan that he was fine, better in fact than he had felt all day. He knew he probably had her to thank for that, but was hesitant to tell her so. Despite the evidence, he still wasn't 100% sure he hadn't imagined it, and didn't want to risk further embarrassment by bringing it up. Pardon the expression.


End file.
